"Now Blooms the Tudor Rose."

[St. Just]

I hope Crato goes rogue or something. Like establishing a White Rajah state somewhere in the region. Or just running Malacca as a personal fiefdom. Or defecting to the Dutch.

 

[Larus Marinus]

I've been reading this obsessively for the past couple of weeks. Damn good stuff. My only problem was with the scrolling down to check the footnotes, but that problem was easily solved by just having two tabs open on the same page, and scrolling down to the footnotes on one of the tabs. (I wish I had figured that out before reaching page 30)

Looking forward to future updates...Though given the size of most of the updates in this thread, I don't mind waiting.

 

[ranichi17]

Finally caught up. I wonder how TTL North America will be affected by all this. Ol' Nan is sure having a long life, so maybe she'd kick the bucket soon?
Antoinette made a laughing stock of herself.
I wonder if the throne would ever pass to John Christian, unless his mother was barred from succession after being declared illegitimate, and thus by extension, her descendants?

 

[Brainbin]

In case you haven't noticed - and I only just discovered this, myself - Space Oddity has begun posting Now Blooms the Tudor Rose to the Finished Timelines and Scenarios Forum, with the subtitle "Gold Edition". All of his content posts depicting the reign of Henry VIII (from the POD in 1533 to his death in 1545) have been merged into a single update covering his later reign, with the judicious addition of opening quotes and (of course) more portraiture. He mentioned a "side project" to me as part of the reason for his delay in posting 1563, and I'm wondering if this is what he meant, though I won't presume to speak for him. It's certainly a very nice surprise!

Remember that the rules of the forum allow you to comment on finished timelines in their respective original discussion threads - namely, this one. I look forward to doing so myself, once I have the time to dig into the whole thing (as it's over 25,000 words long). But I'll bump the thread anyway, so that my fellow readers can chime in!

 

[Space Oddity]

Thanks. I was planning on noting that.

I'll also add that isn't quite the side project I was talking about. (I'm a busy man.) Still, it's been something I've been working on for a while, and I hope you all enjoy it.

 

[Grouchio]

Jeez....It's been nearly 4/5 months since the last update. When will we get to 1600 at this rate? 2022?

 

[Space Oddity]

When we get to it, Grouchio.

Let's remember something--this is a hobby of mine. I don't get paid to do this, or any material compensation whatsoever. So, if the work is occasionally slow--well, hey, you're getting it for free.

 

[Keith Robertsson]

However, I for one am grateful for any further chapters you do post.

When we get to it, Grouchio.

Let's remember something--this is a hobby of mine. I don't get paid to do this, or any material compensation whatsoever. So, if the work is occasionally slow--well, hey, you're getting it for free.

 

[Space Oddity]

However, I for one am grateful for any further chapters you do post.

And I am grateful for your gratitude. Rest assured, work continues--I'd even argue that the entry for 1563 is about 3/4s done, though that last quarter includes some tough work.

 

[Lycaon pictus]

I love the new quotes.

 

[Falkenburg]

In case you haven't noticed - and I only just discovered this, myself - Space Oddity has begun posting Now Blooms the Tudor Rose to the Finished Timelines and Scenarios Forum, with the subtitle "Gold Edition".

Thanks for the heads up, Brainbin. And thank you for the tale, Space Oddity.

Falkenburg

 

[Poor Little Rhode Island]

Quality takes time. The quality of your work, Space Oddity, speaks for itself. It is worth the wait!

 

[Space Oddity]

In part of my eternal efforts to remind my readers that, yes, I care--a couple of pictures of two people who were important in 1562, and will get a mention in 1563...

Antoinette Stuart

Her husband, Gabriel de Lorges, Comte de Montgomery

 

[Space Oddity]

And here's a nice one.... a portrait of the Infante Charles Maria, painted by his mother's painting tutor, Sofonisba Anguisola....

 

[Thoresby]

Gabriel de Lorges is obviously a real portrait but who are the other two really?

 

[Space Oddity]

One is a purported portrait of Mary Stuart, the second one is unknown.

 

[St. Just]

Charles Maria looks like a little munchkin warlord from some fantasy series.

"Yo soy el rey de la piruleta gremio, piruleta gremio, piruleta gremio..."

 

[Space Oddity]

Charles Maria looks like a little munchkin warlord from some fantasy series.

"Yo soy el rey de la piruleta gremio, piruleta gremio, piruleta gremio..."

Just wait till he grows up.

 

[Space Oddity]

"...Until now, Cardinal Charles de Bourbon had been a minor figure in the Church, despite his rank. More courtier than priest, many of his fellows not only wondered what his opinion on Protestantism was--they wondered if he even had one. His sudden reinvention of himself as champion of the True Faith came as a surprise to many--save his immediate family, who put nothing past the Archbishop of Rouen.

"Cardinal Lorraine, in contrast, was utterly shocked. On hearing that Bourbon had denounced him to the king for his Christmas Mass at Reims, Lorraine is said to have uttered 'That ingrate had his cap from me"... Relations between the Bourbons and Guises had always been complex--while the Guises were proud of their Bourbon ancestry, they could not help but feel they were the greater family, and were known to find Antoine of Navarre's royal pretensions fairly ridiculous. The Bourbons on the other hand, often resented their cousins for usurping what they saw as their rightful place--and yet were forced to rely on the more influential Guises for favors. The upcoming Estates General would raise the tensions between the two clans to the final break--as well as breaking of the Bourbons themselves..."

--Allain Tournier, 'The Red and the Black: The War of Cardinal de Bourbon and Cardinal de Lorraine for the Soul of France' (1977)

1563

--As the Second Schmalkaldic War enters its second year of all-out fighting--calling it the second year outright wouldn't quite be accurate, thanks to that lengthy, violent build-up--certain truths are felt by its participants and onlookers. Austria is, it's widely agreed, finished, and will be fortunate to come out with any territories intact--the real struggle is between Saxony and the Palatinate. Most favor Saxony to win in the long-run--but the Palatinate and its allies are wealthy and, in the aggregate, populous. Most expect a brief struggle between the two Protestant powers, followed by some sort of arrangement.

Needless to say, many of these beliefs prove to be dead wrong, though it will be some time before the extent of this is shown. In the meantime, John Frederick works to strengthen his hold on Bohemia. The Elector is a good mood of late--aside from his good fortune in war, the Electress Elizabeth is pregnant once again. Life, in his eyes, his very, very good. Prague also sees the arrival of Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, and a few companions, among them the Viscount Hereford[1], who will pledge themselves to the Elector's cause. Surrey and his fellows will perform many services in the war, most notably by allowing Englishmen to imagine they were an important part of it.

--France is dominated by the assembling of Henri II's latest Estates General in Anjou, which will largely deal with the issue of allowing the king to bypass his eldest surviving son in favor of the younger due to the former's religion. It is proving something of a turning point in the tangled world of French politics. While there've always been rivalries and factions, up till now they've always been rather personal when you got down to it, based on opposing men, not ideas. (Well, okay, often men's ideas, but the big point is, there's a man in there somewhere, and he's what really counts, with the ideas being a side-issue.) The three factions that have emerged in this are ideological, often splitting families into warring camps--most obviously the Bourbons, who have a member in each. (More if you count the various branches of the Bourbons.) Most Huguenots naturally are for keeping to the traditional succession (and thus are called Orleanists), while the Cathars and conservative Catholics back the King's plans for granting it to his youngest son (and are thus called Royalists). It is the third group, the moderate Politiques, who are up for grabs. While most are sympathetic to the Huguenots' desire to avoid a massive alteration in the kingdom's succession laws, ultimately what the Politiques want is peace and stability. The general consensus is that changing the succession laws in such a way as to make a civil war likely on Henri II's death is not conductive to this. On the other hand, they also think having the heir to throne be an open heretic in the eyes of most of the populace is also not conductive to it, so they're really looking for some acceptable compromise. And the struggle between these three factions for supremacy is mostly happening in the Third Estate.

That's not to say there aren't struggles in the First or Second Estate (that is, the Church and the nobility, respectively)--but here you know who you're facing, and you generally know where they stand. In contrast, the representatives of the Third Estate are elected with each new Estates General. This has generally been a fairly placid affair up until now, resembling the selection of English Parliament members. Electors, after all, are relatively few, and generally wealthy, or at least well-off--most elections have involved a handful of men meeting in some convenient location, having a little chat, possibly sharing a few drinks, and then agreeing on their representative, who was fairly often selected before they even got together, but hey, you have stick to the forms, because tradition. (Indeed, even the lengthy break since the last Estates prior to Henri's rule hasn't changed the French's general understanding of what an election entails--there are plenty of other, lower elected positions, after all, and they tend to operate on the same principles.) But this time, it's different. This time it's not just about choosing the man who will represent you at the Estates. This time it's about making sure he's the right sort of man as well. A man who stands where you stand. A man who thinks how you think. And suddenly those friendly little meetings aren't friendly. They're loud and angry and full of people shouting at each other--Royalist against Orleanist, Orleanist against Politique, Politique against Royalist. And as this happens, influence-brokers are hard at work, serving their respective factions and hoping to reap the benefits. [2]

Prominent among them is Antoine of Navarre, eldest of the Bourbon brothers, and a leading member of the Politiques. As opposed to his brothers, Antoine is seen as a blatant opportunist with no fixed political ideas, who'd cheerfully sell out his professed religion for his own advancement. This is somewhat unfair--Charles and Louis are both creatures of opportunity themselves, as they will repeatedly prove over the years that follow, and Antoine is in fact dedicated to the Reformation. He just finds the fanaticism that's engulfed the Huguenot camp rather... unsettling, and is convinced that the best hope for France's Protestants is working WITH the Catholics, instead of against them. Of course Antoine has plenty of unattractive traits--just ask his wife, Jeanne d'Albret[3]--including a tendency to beg Philip II for Pamplona so that he can reunite "his" kingdom that makes him rather suspectible to Spanish overtures. But compared to his reptilian brothers, he's downright cuddly. Still, he's not exactly a reliable figure--him coming to the forefront of French politics is on the whole a bad sign.

All-in-all, it's a pretty unsettling situation. No one is quite sure what's going to happen at this Estates. It may be that everything will go down just as Henri II plans it. It may be that he'll be decisively thwarted. And it may be that the country will slide into outright civil war.

Only time will tell.

--In Rome and Mantua, the fallout from Cardinal de Lorraine's Christmas Mass is making life interesting, with men like Cardinal Ghislieri and Abbot Felice Perretti muttering about how they KNEW they couldn't trust that closet Lutheran. Pope Pius is also furious--he does NOT like being put on the spot--but another part of him is, almost despite himself, hopeful. Yes, Cardinal Charles de Lorraine has attempted to force his hand on matters in a typical display of arrogance. But--this might be to his advantage. If--if he can work something out with the Gallicans, he MIGHT just have created the path he needs to bring the Lutherans and the Anglicans back to the Holy Church. Regional leadership of churches--vernacular masses--communion of both kinds--Pius is not exactly a proponent of these things, but he's willing to acknowledge that the Catholic Church might have to accept them to survive. Despite the Cathars and conservatives frothing at the mouth over them, there is a growing sentiment that God's opinion on these matters are not as clear cut as some people believe, proven by the fact that the Protestants are doing... rather well for themselves.

And so, even as the Pope makes it clear he is cross--very cross--with the Cardinal, feelers are sent out that make it clear that he's willing to come to an arrangement, if de Lorraine will only be... reasonable. He also shuts down any talk of excommunicating the Cardinal for the time being, noting bluntly that the last thing he wants to do is create a "French Luther". Cardinal de Lorraine responds by sending Michel l'Hopital to Mantua, to... work something out. The Cardinal instructs Michel to remain firm with the Pontiff--France MUST continue down this path to save the nation. "He will try to charm you--he will try to beguile you--he will try to overawe you--BUT you must remain as iron."

In Paris, Henri II is likewise put out by the sudden revelation that the highest-ranking cleric in France is apparently far more sympathetic to Protestantism than even he imagined. Indeed, in spite of Cardinal de Bourbon's assurances that the country is behind him, Cardinal de Lorraine's actions spur on another bout of epic self-doubt on the King's part. If the heretics have spread so far that they've started to taint the highest offices of the French church--well, can you even call them heretics at that point? Henri has always imagined that in the end most of his subjects were with him in religious matters--even if their way of showing that support occasionally went into the insanely vicious--but now he's starting to think that France may very well be falling the way of the Germans or the British. The only way to halt this for certain that he can think of is the "Spanish Approach"--and even he's accepted by now that starting up an Inquistion is a non-starter in his home. The King places more and more hope into the Estates General, which he notes to his dear Francoise, will reveal to him the true thoughts of the nation.

It has to.

--The forces of the Heidelberg Compact seize the last Hapsburg strongholds in Alsace. Archduke Charles Francis and what remains of his forces flee into the Free County, where they will spend the much of the year negotiating a route back home to Tyrol with, in turn, France, Savoie and the Swiss, while being viewed as an embarassing nuisance by Spain. (The Free County is, by treaty with France, supposed to be neutral territory.) Charles Francis suffers through this latest humiliation with his usual good humor, which is to say, none at all. The Archduke recieves some good news--Bavarian forces in the Tyrol have been repulsed by a combination of the Tyrol's own militias and Italian armies lead by his most recently-made brother-in-law, Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara and Modena. (This is particularly good news for Charles Francis because Tyrol is part of his half of Austria--in fact, it's his favorite part.) Further, his wife has born him a daughter, named Maria Christina. Still, this more than balanced out by discovering his elder brother is presently incommunicado, and his sister-in-law is in fact running the Austrian war effort. This redoubles the Archduke's desire to get out of the Free County--he thinks he should be running the show in this situation, not Maria--but alas, not his speed. Matters remain a muddle for him, until very late in the year, when he and his little army are at last allowed passage through the Swiss cantons, on the very firm understanding that they not start anything, at all, and move very, very quickly.

In Vienna, Maria of Spain continues to call the shots, even as her various brother-in-laws, and prominent figures in the court offer to assist her. Ercole d'Este reunites with his elder brother, the Duke of Ferrara, and with his fiancee--and soon wife--Geromina Gonzaga. Albert of Prussia and Elector Joachim remain at their cousin's domicile, under house arrest. And Ferdinand stays in his apartments with Phillipine, occasionally seeing the Hapsburg family art agent Jacopo Strada[4], to look at the latest piece he's acquired in Venice. Bit by bit, the "King of the Romans by Necessity" is restoring his nerves. All this time spent with his mistress, and his art collection are about getting to a state where he can shoulder the awesome responsibilities that he's been left with without collapsing into a heap. He has to--the reports he's heard make it abundantly clear that the Hapsburg situation is worsening, and he thinks his wife's heavy-handed approach isn't helping. (As for his brother--well, he loves Charles Francis, but there's never been any doubt in Ferdinand's mind who's the brains of this branch of the family.)

Of course, all that time with Philippine has had another affect--she's pregnant again, a fact the Archduke of Upper Austria finds very encouraging. And so Ferdinand von Hapsburg starts to hope once more...

--Ivan IV is merry as the year begins--his young wife is pregnant again, and he's got his cousin's mother on trial. True, temporary reversals have occurred in Lithuania--but Russia still dominates there, while in Livonia, Gotthard Kettler is once again facing the pinch, as his sovereign deals with his own problems, and Denmark is secretly looking at coming to terms. (Sweden however, is getting... weird, as will be explained shortly.) As far the Tsar of Russia is concerned, things are pretty much going his way. Poor Vladimir of Staristya is less joyous--he has to watch his mother Evfrosin'ya put on trial for treason and sorcery, both capital offenses. The Russian prince pleads with his cousin to show mercy "in light of the loyalty I have shown you, and the great service I have done you' (referring to the whole matter of saving Ivan's life last year) and even receives some support from the new Patriarch of Moscow, as well as Ivan's old teacher and confessor, Father Sylvester. Ivan agrees to show Evfrosin'ya some clemency, and does so by having her strangled to death then burnt, instead of burnt alive[5]. Vladimir thanks the Tsar for his supreme mercy, and discovers that Ivan is still dismissing all the prince's old retainers, and supplying him with a much smaller group, all of whom are in the Tsar's pay. Vladimir thanks the Tsar again for paying such dutiful attention to his needs, and then goes to the small apartment he and his family have in been living in Moscow since their old palace mysteriously burnt down.[6] And with that done, Ivan pats himself on the back for once again showing Russia who's boss.

Andrei Kurbsky is on hand to witness most of this, as Ivan hasn't been replying to his requests for a renewal of his military command. Kurbsky's hopes of getting Ivan on his side in person have proven futile--indeed, he now has good reason to suspect Ivan will, once his present term runs out, have Kurbsky arrested and in all liklihood, executed. It's said Andrei asks his wife which she would prefer--to see him disgraced and quite possibly killed, or to never see him again. She tells him the latter. Prince Kurbsky returns to Lithuania, accompanied by his eleven-year old son, Dmitri, who is serving as his father's squire. [7]

It is, as he has said, the last time Andrei Kurbsky will see his wife.

--Shifting our perspective to another participant in the Livonian war--Poland-Lithuania sees a wedding that is more important than many people will realize. Royal Pretender Charles Stuart, Earl of Lennox, has caught the eye of fellow Scottish exile Elizabeth Hamilton, as well as various other parts of her. Lennox, always fond of female companionship, has likewise taken a liking to her, and so--marriage!

However, the Earl is not merely thinking with his nether regions here--Elizabeth is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Barbara, as well as the proud owner of quite a bit of property in Poland--gifts from her royal patrons. A King-in-exile must live on something. Further, there are dynastic issues here. Charles Stuart is, once again, pretender to the Kingdoms of England and Scotland. Ironically, the Scottish Earl's claim to England is pretty good, if you ignore the mass of Tudors and the sisters Stewart standing in the way on grounds of religion, gender, and now, dubious marriages--he is a strong Catholic candidate for the throne. His claim to Scotland is considerably weaker--while he was in the line of succession, the Hamiltons were legally before him, and indeed, include both male and female Catholics who would come before him even if you struck Mary and Antoinette out. In a very real sense, Charles Stuart calls himself "King of the Scots" because a bunch of guys called him "King of the Scots" in a half-baked usurpation attempt that all of them have since regretted. Marrying Elizabeth--one of those Catholic Hamiltons who would technically be before him--would shore up that claim. That she's actually good looking is only the icing on the cake.

Lennox's mother Margaret is... less happy with this. First of all, there are quite natural fears of losing her influence over her son to his new wife--and then there's the fact that these are the kin of "Mad Jimmy" the man who killed her (estranged) father. But it appears Charles has discovered the one thing that will cause him to break with his mother--getting some.

The rest of the Hamiltons are ALSO rather unhappy about this, even Catholic Claud Hamilton. They don't like Lennox, and they don't like their family, finally recovering from having to pick up and relocate twice now, getting tied up with a man with a quarrel with not one, but two monarchs, and on top of that, who's shown no real talent for pursuing it. But Elizabeth has made up her mind, and she's got Queen Barbara and her sister-in-law, Anna Jagiellon, on her side. The wedding happens, and the couple will see their first child by the end of the year--the soon to be legendary Alexander Stuart.

--The continuing Long Northern War begins very unpleasantly for Denmark, as a Swedish-Norwegian force invades Bergenhus, hoping to overwhelm the depleted forces of Governor Rosencrantz. They swiftly do so, sending the disgraced Danish governor back home muttering about treacherous Norwegians. But this victory is only intended as the warm-up for the grand design--an invasion of Skane, that will, if successful, break the Danes' stranglehold on the Sounds instead of merely bruising it. Erik decides to lead the troops to battle himself, in what he hopes will be a campaign that will echo down the annals of history.

It does, but in the form of 'things that looked like good ideas, but really weren't'. Erik's troops are still pretty much Swedish peasants with a dollop of training, padded out with whatever mercenaries he can afford, while Frederick is fielding a professional mercenary army that, while smaller than the Danish king would like, is still a skilled fighting force. The resulting campaign isn't so much a rout as a long bloody grind that chews up the Swedish army, then spits it out. Erik, on the return from the disaster, is said to bury his face in his hands, and burst into tears. The depleted Swedish army waits for the Danish counterattack.

It doesn't come. Frederick's forces were still in preparation for their attack when Sweden attacked them--despite having trounced Erik handily, the resulting battles did take quite a bit out of them. The mercenaries want time to recover, and, oh yes, more money, before they attack Sweden. Frederick's fury at seeing a potential turning point snatched away is, of course, tremendous--as for Erik, soon, he and the entire country are uniting in the posture that this of course, is what they were always aiming for, with actual gains in Scania being viewed as a nice little bonus if they could get it. As the King of Sweden starts thinking he's invincible again, the King of Denmark continues to drink heavily[8], swears at his underlings, and calls a new Riksdag. Frederick has reached the limit of what he can fund on his own (with any reasonable chance of gaining victory at least)--for the war to continue, he must raise taxes. At that means calling up the nobles who've been increasingly bitching about all these wars, and asking them to let him do just that. Admittedly, he was expecting this--but he was hoping to have some sort of victory to show them not 'Great news, everyone, the Swedes didn't bludgeon us as badly as they could have'.

After all, that is a pretty bad selling point.

--It is time to return to the other nation on the Iberian Penisula, Portugal, which continues to rock unsteadily in the lengthy minority of King Leander. In an effort to calm their mutual quarrels, his grandmother, Queen-Dowager Catherine of Austria, and his mother, Queen-Dowager Joanna of Austria, have stepped down from the unwieldy dual regency, in favor of Leander's great-uncle, Cardinal Henrique[9]. In fact, this was a brilliant outflanking of Joanna, who has swiftly lost what little power she had. Leander's mother has retreated to her estates, spending her time on good works, the order of nuns she founded recenty, and of course, supporting Jesuits at court. (Joanna's a fan, and by some accounts, a member.[10]) Ironically, the Queen-Dowager's support is proving something of a white elephant for the order, which is viewed as somewhat... subversive by the Portuguese establishment, especially the new regent, who is, among other things, head of the Portuguese Inquisition. This is an attitude that will have significant effects on Portuguese colonial policy in the near (and far) future, most notably in the entire France Antartique affair. But that's to come.

For now, the Jesuits are a begrudged part of the machinery of the Portuguese trading empire, as their missionary zeal and love of foreign culture have made them remarkably successful middlemen. In Japan, for example, they've helped establish contacts with numerous daimyos, most notably a young warlord on the rise, one Oda Nobunaga, as well as his ally?/superior?/relative?--the Portuguese are rather nebulous on the exact dimension of relations in Japan's intricate feudal scene--Takeda Shingen[11]. Nobunaga in particular is fascinated by European culture, though the missionaries hopes that he'll convert are overly optimistic. More importantly to the Portuguese--though they'd never admit it--is the fact that these men are very keen on buying weapons. Especially Nobunaga, who has a fascination with things that go bang that rivals his European counterpart Prince Charles of the Asturias.

Finally, Don Antonio, hoping that the changing of the guard might give him a way home, inquires about his chances of... getting a new bishopric. The Cardinal bids him to stay at his duties--Enrique dislikes his cousin as much as anyone else related to him does. Indeed, despite Malacca's governor complaining about the Bishop's "lewd and unseemly" behavior (including having sired an illegitimate son named Joao with a native woman) and disruptive attitude, Enrique feels the Prior of Crato is best kept far from Portugal proper, as he will make mischief anywhere.

He's certainly right about that.

--In France Antarctique, Nicholas de Villegaigon's efforts to establish the little colony of Saint Dominic are going surprisingly well--he's already made contact with the leadership of the Tamoyo Confederation, a loose-knit alliance of Tupi tribes that has come together to try and check Portuguese interferance in the region. French traders have been quietly supporting the Tamoyo for years now, and de Villegaigon's arrival is giving the Confederation new hope. The Portuguese have been raiding Tupi tribes for slaves for decades, and the Tupi are sick of it. What's more, the colony of Brazil is having something a leadership crisis, leaving them wide open to French interferance.[12] Meeting with Cunhambebe, head of the Confederation[13] de Villegaigon cements the alliance with gifts of guns and powder, and the quickie marriage of his nephew Legrende Boissy, Sieur De Bois le Comte, to one of Cunhambebe's daughters.[14] Admittedly, Boissy is already married, but hey, it's just a nonsense pagan ceremony that doesn't really count. And if the cause of France Antarctique requires that he do the nasty with an attractive native girl, than Boissy will do so, with gusto. And indeed, he does--by the time de Villegaigon is setting sail for Bermuda again, his nephew's 'wife' is pregnant. Boissy leaves her--and Andre Thevet, a Franciscan monk who's accompanied the settlers partially to spread God's word, and partially just to see the New World[15]--instructions to name the child 'Henri' if it's a boy, and 'Catherine' if it's a girl.

--England acquires a new ambassador from France--Francois d'Orleans, Duke of Longueville. A young man of often questionable health, Francois has landed this plumb position thanks to an interesting quirk of fate which has many convinced he is perfect for it--he is Queen Mary Stewart's half-brother by Marie de Guise's first marriage.[16] After an audience with the Queen and King where Mary announces her delight to finally meet her sibling and he shares the news of their sister's giving her new husband a healthy baby boy named Jacques[17], Longueville settles down in court, quickly attracting notice for his constant fussiness about his health--he will in time wind up with the nickname 'the Ambassador to King's Physician' due to his tendency to politely requests visits from that gentleman whenever he has a health scare. Aside from this, Longueville spends his time writing letters to his wife, and filling his diary with various random musings, including a vaguely obscene ranking system of female courtiers, while letting the rest of the French delegation do the actual work.

In other foreign news, Denmark winds up giving England some very mixed news indeed. The good news--King Henry's nephew John Christian has been spawning with his wife with some frequency, producing a fine crop of daughters. Now, he's finally had a son, John Maurice. "He cries very loudly," writes the young Dane with characteristic bluntness, "by which we may know his lungs are very sound. Also, his appetite is immense, which I count to the good, though he is the most odiferous child I have experienced." However as noted, aside from the birth of his loud, gluttonous, stinky grandnephew, the rest of what Henry's hearing out of Denmark is... less pleasant. English merchants, having long enjoyed a discount on the Sounds Dues are rather startled to have Denmark suddenly raise the rates through the roof. Diplomatic efforts to find out what's happened here recieve the equivalent of a 'you know what you did'. Henry, and many others, assume this is about the White Sea routes. Incorrectly, in point of fact.

The new French ambassador and the Danish situation is not the only matter causing a buzz. As noted, Edward of York has installed Diane de la Marck in his apartments, and now it appears she is pregnant, with what she is claiming is her late husband's child. And so, ten months after Jacques de Cleves' death, little Francoise de Cleves is born. An attractive, healthy young child, by the end of the year her hair is coming in, and it is, interestingly enough, quite red. Henry continues to avoid talking to Edward about his mistress, despite Edward's efforts to gracefully bring the matter up in their private discussions of foreign policy and the English budget. Edward has also met with his mother who... well, in the long list of things that Anne Boleyn is not thrilled with these days, her son's romantic entanglement is one of them. This hurts Edward, who has always looked to his mother for approval--but not enough to make him consider breaking things off with Diane, who, once again, he sees as his wife by spiritual if not legal standards. And so all of England tries to get used to the idea of Edward Tudor doing something scandalous.

It is a very strange sensation.

--The Duke of Alba's forces arrive in Naples. Many ambitious young Spaniards have accompanied him on this mission--one of the most famous is a young student named Miguel de Cervantes, who will, of course, go on to be one of the age's foremost playwrights, poets, and by most people's reckoning, the inventor of the modern novel. They are swiftly joined by many ambitious young Neapolitans, among them Torquatto Tasso[18], a young versifier fresh from a stint in Urbino, who is widely considered the most promising Italian poet of his age--a promise he will fulfill. Torquatto is the son of the aged Bernando Tasso, whose incomplete epic L'Amadagi, a reworking of that most Spanish of epics, Amadis de Gaula, is popular throughout Europe[19]. Needless to say, Cervantes, who loves both Amadis de Gaula AND Bernando Tasso's own Italian spin on it, immediately seeks out the young poet, and the pair are soon inseperable chums. This war is going to define the lives of both these men, as well as their art. But that's too come. Right now, they're just a couple of young men with big dreams.

Alba himself is a man of contrasts--on the one hand, he is a brilliant general, a man of culture and refinement, whose soldiers love him. On the other hand, he is viewed by many as a sneaky, cold-hearted villain whose treatment of his own bastard son--Fernando de Toledo, Prior of Malta, who will be accompanying his father and half-brothers on this expedition--during the latter's youth was so bad, it will wind up being the basis for a play[20]. Politically, he's the rival of the Prince of Eboli, who is happy to have him out of the country, and Prince Charles, who has dubbed the Duke "Old Bloody Bones". (Well, okay, a more literal translation of Charles' nickname for the Duke would be "Old Bloody Skeleton" but that misses the alliteration.) Alba's faction stands for royal absolutism and the Castillian elite calling the shots, as opposed to the Ebolistas, who are for moderation, and respect for regional custom, and the small but growing Carlista faction, who are up for anything the Prince of the Asturias suggests, but especially letting the younger generation start stepping into the forefront.

Once Alba's finished up getting his forces organized--which includes hiring an entire division of... camp followers, as Alba does not want to be leading a horde of sexually frustrated young men across the Italian penisula and into Germany--he and his forces head to the front, where, in a fine demonstration of Alba's ability and... foresight, he manages to lead a sizable army across a great distance with little to no incident of rape and rapine[21]. Arriving in Austria, the Spanish troops link up with their Italian counterparts and beat back the Bavarians, who go from strongly convinced that they will capture Vienna before the year is out to politely asking for a truce, if Austria wouldn't mind. With the immediate threat held at bay, the question becomes what to do next. Maria's mind is clear--a strike in Bohemia, to dislodge the accursed Elector of Saxony. Alba has mixed feelings on that, especially with the Turks threatening to join the fray. And that's why he's somewhat relieved when Ferdinand comes out of his seclusion to take over once again. The "King of the Romans" is for supporting the Hapsburg position in Hungary. Alba is also for that. And so, preparations begin for the battle against the Turk.

--Young Charles Emmanuel de Savoie, Abbot of the People, departs from Genoa with his retinue to head home to Savoie so he may be present at the baptism of his little sister Magadalena, the latest and last child of what has proven to be one damnably fertile marriage[22]. Shortly after he leaves, however, Doge Fieschi is assassinated by a cadre of Young Republican conspirators. News of the slaying reaches Charles Emmanual on the road, and so, after first sending a message to his family that he will be, alas, detained for the indefinite future, he rushes back to Genoa. Quickly restoring order under his heavy Savoyard heel, he gathers the Ancients together to select the new Doge, under the watchful, protective eyes of the Savoyard Guard. After a brief consultation, that august body decides that it is evident and obvious that Charles Emmanuel de Savoie is best-suited to be the new Doge. Charles Emmanuel thanks them humbly from the bottom of the heart, and then heads out to crush the riots that he is fairly certain are going to erupt when news of his selection gets out. (They do, and he does.) He is soon seen sporting the red cap that he's had made for the occasion, which will be one source for Charle's nickname. As his father is known as "Testa di ferro" (best rendered in English 'the Head of Iron", and often written "Ironhead"), so Charles Emmanuel will be knows as "Testa di sangue" ("the Head of Blood", or just as often "Bloodyhead"). The other source for his soquibret, of course, is Charles Emmanuel's tendency to make people who oppose him very, very dead.

The rest of Europe continues to watch the Savoies brutally sodomizing Genoa's republican traditions with a mixture of emotions. Some, like Venice and the Dorias (still living it up in Sicily and Sardinia) are filled with grim schadenfreude. Others, like King Philip II of Spain, find it worrying. And a few, like Philip's son Prince Charles, can't help but be filled with a certain admiration for the new Doge's audacity. Interestingly enough, Charles Emmanuel's father, Emmanuel Philibert is one of the second group--it was his plan to continuously supply the Republic with weak, pliable men who would tow the Savoie line, not take over directly. He worries that Charles Emmanuel may have overstepped himself here. But his son is just as positive that his father's method would have failed. "The great difficulty of men who are malleable is that in the end, all treat them with contempt," he notes. "You cannot build a fortress upon the sand and hope for it to stand firm." As the Genoese suffer through the latest round of executions, they can definitely agree that Charles Emmanuel de Savoie is not a malleable man. Not in the least.

--Vienna's sudden change from having nearly no armies to having quite a few causes Archbishop Wolfgang of Wurzburg to send a message asking for help. Alfonso of Ferrara volunteers his forces and sets off from Austria's holdings in Swabia--his brother Ercole accompanies him, leading a crack calvary force he's raised with the funds he got by ransoming the Duke of Mecklenburg. "I want men who can outride the devil," declares Ercole. He gets them.

The fighting in Franconia is largely scattered--bands of knights and their followers throughout the south, with a large Hessian force in the north. As Alfonso and his army prepare to deal with the Hessians, Ercole's calvalry cuts a swathe through the countryside, raiding Knight enclaves where they find them. The result is electric--Alfonso and his troops regularly find themselves met by battered forces desperate to find someone to surrender to. It's not that Ercole and his forces are so fearsome, but that the Knights are fairly disorganized--Ercole's lightning strikes against them are incredibly demoralizing. Further, the whole thing feeds on itself, creating the impression that Ercole d'Este is this undefeatable force in Franconia who can be anywhere. Which is exactly what Ercole is trying to achieve. Suffice to say, by the time Alfonso's forces reach Wurzburg, the Hessians are quite nervous, thanks to Ercole's growing reputation, and the fact that the young Italian has been having his men engage in what boils down to low grade banditry in the area. Ercole assures his brother that a fairly brief siege will break their nerves, and grant Alfonso the city with minimal bloodshed. Whether he's correct in his judgement is never known--Alfonso decides not to wait, and orders it stormed. (Admittedly, his reasoning for this isn't so patchy--having been sacked two years in a row, Wurzburg is not in the best shape for defense, despite the Hessians efforts at restoring it.) In many respects, the Duke's proven right--his forces take the city, albeit with significant casualties. However, from Alfonso's point of view, it's definitely not worth it--he's one of those casualties. Taking a significant wound, he expires shortly in his tent, Ercole by his side--Alfonso's last words, spoken while clutching his brother's hand, are "Forgive... forgive..." (Given the rather strained relationship between the d'Este brothers, with its numerous quiet scandals, just what he meant by this is debated to this day.) Ercole kisses his brother cheek, and reportedly says 'I accept, and I give.' With Alfonso's death[23], leadership falls to Ercole, who has the troops leave Wurzburg immediately--the city is useless as fortification at the moment, what with having been sacked three years running now. He has come out of this campaign with his reputation enlarged, command of one of the largest forces in the Austrian military, and of course, the inheritor of the titles held by his brother, who's left only one child--a daughter--behind. (And again, that daughter might not even be his.) Suddenly, Ercole is no longer a footloose Italian nobleman playing soldier--he's one of Italy's most prominent Dukes, and a leading general in the war. All of which makes d'Este's independence, general estrangement from Vienna and growing contempt for the Hapsburgs rather... worrying.

--The newly-named Elector-Archbishop of Cologne sets out to demonstrate why he was elected. And Salentin von Isenburg doesn't intend to do that by sitting still and defending his territory. No, he goes forth to wage war on the enemies that surround Cologne, his troops pillaging and burning a ring around the area. By the middle of the year, men are already speaking of the "Armored Archbishop" with a mixture of awe and terror. In one especially noteworthy battle, Salentin routs Palatine troops in Mainz lead by the Elector's son and heir, Ludwig. Ludwig himself is killed in the battle--having had only daughters, his brother Hermann Ludwig is now heir to Electorship.[24] And for those who know him, this is a dangerous thing.

As opposed to his more easygoing brother, Hermann Ludwig is a fiery Reformed Lutheran, and a highly impulsive man, who rather famously eloped with one of Ernest the Confessor's daughters--Sophia von Guelph--five years ago. Hermann got away with this scandalous act because he is his father's favorite--one reason Frederick von Simmern isn't quite as upset about his heir dying as one might think. Hermann Ludwig shares with the Elector a deep self-aggrandizing streak--for example he named his firstborn son Ruprecht which just happens to be the name of the last Wittelsbach of the Palatinate to be King of the Romans[25]. All in all, a very dangerous man to become the new heir to the throne, so to speak.

Still, for Salentin von Isenburg, this is all academic. He's taught the Compact to fear him and bought himself a free hand. This is, from his point of view, a good thing. Indeed, his eyes are already turning towards other fronts. Fronts that will prove most surprising.

--The fighting in Brunswick likewise heats up as Eric von Calenburg moves to cement the control of both he and his allies over the region. Francis Otto of Luneburg-Celle has finally come out in favor of side--Leipzig Bond--due to the fact that Eric wants him to give up half his holdings to Otto von Marburg. Not even France Otto can stomach that, and so his armies, poor as they are, have taken to the field. Eric, deep in planning the upcoming siege of Brunswick, is forced to split his forces--admittedly, not the best of options, but with his opponents as ramshackle as they are, perhaps the fastest route to victory.

Eric, and Otto von Marburg lead the forces that will be facing Luneburg-Celle's army, while William of Gottingen goes to Brunswick with a smaller force to convince the city that all hope is lost, so they might as well just accept Calenburg as their overlord, and if they do so pleasantly, he'll keep the oppression to a minimum, and won't execute everbody in the leadership. Brunswick decides to continue to resist, and so William settles down for a siege. Said siege is swiftly interrupted by the forces of his uncle, Francis von Gifhorn, who arrive to fight the Compact forces off, with Francis leading the charge. William, place on an off-foot by his uncle's arrival, and fearful of Gifhorn getting reinforcements and being able to utterly overwhelm his small company, retreats despite having a numeric advantage. Gifhorn arrives in Brunswick to the city's plaudits. The city's fathers are soon shocked to discover that Francis has in fact no reinforcements coming at all--the soldiers he's got with him are his army. As the Duke settles in, the people of Brunswick try to wrap their heads around the fact that their new defender is a man who will charge troops when he is outnumbered.

They are uncertain if this is a good or a bad thing.

William of Gottingen's ignoble retreat earns him the contempt of his cousins, especially Eric von Calenburg, who is really starting to wonder why it is he keeps William around. Still, things are more than balanced out by his sterling victory against the Luneburg-Celle forces, which was, simply put, the equivalent of a bodybuilder attacking an anemic spastic, and bludgeoning the poor man into the ground. Among the dead are Francis Otto himself, though, fittingly, he doesn't die in the battle proper, but by falling off his horse and being dragged through brambles while trying to find a suitable hill to view the epic struggle. More significantly, the Luneburg-Celle's ally, Francis von Waldek the Younger, Bishop of Munster[26], perishes--the holder of no less than three significant Prince-Bishoprics, his alliance with Leipzig Bond, like his father's with the Schmalkaldic League before it, operated on the hope of getting all this turned into a hereditary duchy. While that hasn't quite happened yet, the family has managed to keep their ecclesiastic holdings together so far. However, the Bishop's death ends all that, as his son and two brothers begin quarrelling over who gets what.

Eric von Calenberg sees an opportunity in this. Indeed, the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel sees a LOT of opportunities in the latest turns the war has taken. Already, the ambitious closet Catholic is sending secret emissaries to Vienna to make... a proposal, even as he sends troops to make certain the Church Councils vote... properly. The Bishopric of Minden will be occupied swiftly, and forced to elect the Catholic Rembert von Kerssenbrock, Bishop of Paderborn. William of Gottingen is rather put out by this and tries to stand for election himself, but his effort are quickly quashed by Eric. The final split between the pair will come... shortly. In meantime, William's brother Henry of Dannenberg holds onto a tiny rump of the Luneburg-Celle lands, with the assistance of his uncle Francis. The Leipzig Bond Guelphs look to the east for a savior.

They should be looking to the west.

--The good spirits that have reigned Spain of late, buoyed by a combination of success in war and the promise of a stable succession, come to an abrupt, and tragic end. One morning, Queen Maria suddenly announces she feels faint in the middle of her breakfast, and passes out. Doctors are quickly sent for, as the Queen is rushed to her bed. Their prognosis is grim--Maria is suffering a rather difficult, protracted miscarriage. As it continues, the Spanish doctors attempt to ease her pain with bloodlettings and purgitives. This succeeds in its objective, through the novel method of speeding up her death.

Philip is devastated--he has come to dote on his wife in his own quiet, reserved way, and now, in a time of a trouble and hardship for his house, she is gone. As Maria is brought to the tomb that awaits her in the Escorial, Philip famously stops the coffin and has it opened so that he can look at her one last time. Then he does it again, at the threshold of the tomb. And then once again, in the tomb. Charles is sympathetic to his father, and offers to assist Philip in any way he can in his time of grief. Philip interpets this as the Prince of Asturias using his stepmother's death as an excuse to snatch power from his father. "Always he is plotting," he snaps to the Prince of Eboli, bemoaning that God would send him such a son. Charles, on learning of this conversation--yes, he spies on his father, largely because his father spies on him--states to his wife that he fears peace has fled the Spanish court. It has definitely left his father's heart for the time being. Rumor has it, Philip is actually desperate enough to start seeing a mistress again, who he meets only in darkened rooms and under specific instructions to not speak during their... rendevous. (Rumor does not agree who this mistress is, though one popular suspect is the Princess Eboli. Ruy Gomez isn't known as the perfect courtier for nothing. His wife already has born him several supiciously blonde children, after all, during Philip's last stretch of bachelorhood.[27])

Despite his grief, the King of Spain continues to work at running his empire--indeed, he quite arguably buries himself in it. And soon, he's found a new problem to occupy his time, as if the Second Schmalkaldic War and the Seventeen Provinces weren't enough--the Moriscos of Granada. The Barbary Pirates have been an increasing threat on the western Mediterrarean as a result of the last few Italian wars leaving the region in a highly unstable, ambiguous balance of power between France and Spain. Philip has been planning to act against them for years, but has always been stymied by circumstances--now however, he feels he is truly out of options--Spain MUST crush the Barbary menace, even if it has other ongoing projects. And that has instilled in him a desire to move against the Moriscos, who he views as silent partners of the pirates, a Muslim fifth column into Spain.

This is not utterly unjustified on Philip's part--the Moriscos of Granada do in fact have dealings with the pirates. Still, much of this is the sort of smuggling and intriguing that goes on in most coastal areas (with perhaps a slight religious flavoring in this case), and is far from the united Muslim conspiracy that Philip envisions. But reality doesn't matter here--perception does. Philip sees the Moriscos of Granada as a dangerous threat that needs to be brought to curb. And he has a plan to do just that. Granada's Moriscos have long enjoyed various freedoms and rights, guaranteed by the crown, among them the freedom to wear their own traditional garb. Philip has decided to renege on those guarantees. Enforcing the new standards will grant Philip the ability to stop trouble in the region before it starts. Or at least, so the King believes, which is why he brings the plan up through a carefully chosen group of proxies.

Philip's plans have their opposition. First off, the Captain-General of Granada, the Count of Tendilla[28], is very much against them. He thinks that instead of heading off trouble in the region, they will start it. And then there's Prince Charles, who has a tendency to disagree with his father out of force of habit. Still, up till now, Charles hasn't done much about his objections save chuckle sarcastically at Council meetings. This time he speaks up, agreeing with the Count and adding that the plan makes Philip look weak and treacherous at a time when his subjects need him to appear strong and trustworthy. Philip replies that if he wants the Prince of the Asturias' opinion, he'll ask for it--Charles grumbles that that means he'll never ask--and the Prince and King spend the rest of the Council meeting glaring at each other fixedly, right through a discussion on the recent upheavals in the silk and wool trades. It is, the Prince of Eboli will note to one of his proteges, an exceedingly disconcerting meeting, made all the more so by the fact that father and son remain perfectly cognent about the discussion going on around them, and regularly interject with comments on it. When it is over, everyone leaves with the feeling that they have just witnessed a new low in the King and Prince's relationship.

They are right, but considering how bad it's going to get, it's actually not as awful as they imagine.

--Sultan Suleiman's army heads out. To give a good idea of how large it is, it easily dwarfs the sizes of the total forces presently involved Second Schmalkaldic War. Turkish soldiers flood into the Balkans and from there, into Hungary. In Hungary, the Sultan grants an audience to Prince Janos of Transylvania, and his wife, the Princess Margaret, where, after Janos Sigismund pays homage to Suleiman, the aging monarch swears that he shall see Zapolya restored to his rightful throne[29], following which he complicates young Janos Henrik (all ready showing his famous red hair) for being a hearty young baby. Janos Henrik will refer to this meeting often in later years, though his claims of having been dawdled on the Sultan's knee are almost certainly false. Margaret leaves with her husband and child, commenting on what nice Turkish despot Suleiman is. He may be aging and increasingly immobile, but he still has a surprising amount of charm.

And with that, the Turks are off--attacking Hapsburg fortresses, and raising hell. In one famous battle, a greatly outnumbered band of Croats lead by Nikola Šubic Zrinski face the invading Turkish army with courage--and about the results you'd expect when you charge a well-equipped enemy who outnumbers you almost ten to one.[30] Suleiman takes it all in with joy. Soon--soon he will occupy all of Hungary, and then--then he will be at the gates of Vienna once more. Soon, he will finish his life's work. Soon!

He dies in his sleep on the way to the front.[31]

Sokullu Mehmet Pasha springs to action, after a bit of swearing under his breath. He has, after all, been rather afraid of this possibility happening, and so he came prepared. A stand-in for Suleiman is produced, and then sent back to Belgrade with the late Sultan's body, with Sokullu Mehmet letting it be known that the Sultan's decided that he's graced the front enough with his presence, and it's time for him to go back home. Sokullu Mehmet then leaves his nephew Sokullu Mustafa Pahsa in charge of the fighting as he proceeds to follow the corpse back to Belgrade.[32]

This doesn't really fool the Turks so much--rumors of the Sultan's death circulate rather quickly--but it does muddy the waters for the Hapsburgs, and more importantly, the Persians. Prince Selim, waiting in Edirne, swiftly moves in to Constantinople, and is declared Sultan. It would be nice to say that this happens without a hitch--but this is the Ottoman Empire, where the succession principle is 'as God wills it'. Rushing to Belgrade to meet his father's corpse, Selim quickly finds that the troops there are expecting their traditional donative granted on the ascension of a new Sultan. And he's rather short on cash. So, he pays them a smaller fee right now, promising the rest later. Then he gets on with the important business of ending this war for the time being. Austria proves very, very willing to accept his terms--quite a few fortresses turned over to the Turks, and a great deal of money to be paid to the Sultan in installments, and that's it--Selim declares victory, and rushes back to Constantinople. And that is when his troubles really begin--the troops start demanding the full donative. NOW. Selim sends the Grand Vizier and the Grand Admiral to talk some sense into them, but the troops really want that money, and disrespect the pair, knocking the Grand Vizier off his horse.[33] Indeed, Piyale will swear he hears cries of "Sultan Bayezid" and even "Sultan Mustafa" from the crowd. This is bad--indeed, it borders on crisis. And it's at this moment that Selim gives a demonstration of the talent that helped him the most in winning the succession--he's got a knack for making valuable friends. In this case, he pays a visit to his sister, and his good buddy Jewish financier Joseph Nasi, both of whom forward the Sultan a loan[34]. The troops are paid. The crisis is passed. The Grand Vizier loses his job, and Sokullu Memhet Pasha takes his place. And everyone gets ready for the next crisis. Prince Bayezid is still out there, after all, and he's doubtless heard about this. He will make a move. They're going to have to be ready for it.

And so, the preparations begin. Sultan Selim Sari (that is, "Selim the Blonde") is seen as a lightweight compared to his father, as well as his grandfather and namesake "Selim the Grim". He is pleasant and affable, fond of his pleasures, leaning more to the "Poet" side of the "Warrior Poet" ideal that every Sultan is supposed to embody. And that's why people tend to ignore the fact that this man has triumphed in the bloody business of becoming Sultan and gathered a formidable body of allies to his side while he did it. Selim wouldn't put himself anywhere near his father in terms of ability--but he's not the joke Bayezid likes to imagine. He's done his time serving in the imperial bureaucracy, and he knows how to make it work for him. Right now, he and his supporters are making sure it does just that.

--In Parma, Alessandro Farnese, still quite peeved at marrying the Pope's bastard daughter, makes another annoying discovery--his father is stiffing him on his inheritance. Elder twin Carlo is getting the entire Duchy of Parma, and the enjoined Duchy of Piombeto, while Alessandro is going to get... the Duchy of Castro, a small commune in Italy that his father inherited from a cousin. As inheritances go, it's pretty crap--the only real benefit is that Alessandro will be able to introduce himself as a Duke. Alessandro, who thought marrying a bastard five years older than him would entail some sort of... you know, reward--does not take this well. He storms out of Parma, and heads up to his mother in the Netherlands, a journey that involves heading through France to avoid the whole Second Schmalkaldic War thing that's going down on the Rhine. On his arrival--followed shortly by that of Renea d'Este, who's decided to stick by her husband whether he wants her to or not--Margaret of Parma holds a joyous celebration. Her darling little boy is married, and things in the Seventeen Provinces have calmed down. Time for FUN!

Unfortunately for Margaret, that calm is deceptive. The Burgundian nobles have pegged that Philip's pulled a fast one as regards to Cardinal Graneville's resignation and religious persecution, and they are not happy. Even worse, Louis of Nassau has returned to the Low Countries, filled with Protestant zeal and tales of the Second Schmalkaldic War--on the whole, a dangerous man, made more dangerous by his being the younger brother of William, Prince of Orange. He has quickly made a friend of the fellow dangerous man and local scamp, Count Brederode, who uses the celebration as a cover to call together a meeeting of noblemen. At this meeting, Brederode and Louis manage to convince their friends that SOMETHING must be done and why don't they sign this little paper, saying that they're all going to work together to see that, eh? Among the signers are the Stadtholders Egmont and Louis' brother William of Orange, neither of whom were invited to the meeting, and who in fact, simply seemed to have been passing by when the enthusiastic crowd pulled them in. (In Egmont's case, this almost certainly true. In Orange's... it is more questionable.) With that done, Brederode has an audience with Margaret, accompanied by a retinue of 300 men, wherein he reads out the demands of his fellows. Margaret finds the whole ordeal terrifying, causing one of her courtiers to comment, in an effort to comfort her, 'What, my lady, frightened of these beggars?'

Had this been said before anyone but Brederode the whole thing might have been forgotten. But Brederode is far from anyone. What most men would see as an insult he sees as a potential slogan. At the next meeting of his allies, he is bearing a begging bowl, and proclaiming that all men must be willing to 'be beggars for their nation'.[35]

And the situation in the Netherlands gets ever-so-slightly worse.

--The Earl of Essex writes from Ireland to his family, most specifically, his uncle and his wife. The general ghist of Essex's messages is that everything is fine, except for those things that are not, which turn out to be quite a lot of things. The Dudleys are not exactly well-thought of by many of their fellows on the expedition--especially not the Earl of Wiltshire and his half-brother. (Indeed, Sir Edward Strafford is rather miffed at Dudley being named "Duke of Buckingham" as he's always had a faint hope of one day recieving the title himself--the Straffords after all, were the family that provided the last Dukes of Buckingham, and he's the King's first cousin, albeit from a dubious marriage.) While most are willing to grant the Lord Admiral some respect, his sons are different matter--John the Younger is a drunk, while Ambrose and Guilford are pleasant but unremarkable. Thus the army is filled to the brim with people who don't particularly like each other, and are starting to actively dislike one another. Further, Essex has to admit, he's not sure the army's accomplishing anything--they seem to march about, setting small Irish villages and farms on fire and killing their inhabitants in hopes that this will teach the Irish a lesson. It must be pointed out that Essex is not going down in history as a cuddly, soft guy filled to the brim with warm feelings, so the fact that the violence he's seeing is bugging him says quite a bit.

Of course, the Earl never says all of this in one giant spiel--it's rather buried among the letters, mixed in with questions on life back home, including the health and well-being of his slightly-off father-in-law, John Neville, Baron Lattimer (The Cromwells have been looking after Lattimer for some time--in fact, that happens to be how Essex met his wife, Dorothy)[36], or his cousin Sir Henry Williams Cromwell's new child, whom the knight has dubbed Brutus in a grand flight of romantic fancy[37]. Further, he rather leaves out the ill regard others have for him. Aside from being the great-grandson of a blacksmith, Essex is a very finicky young man, whose claim to fame prior to setting off for Ireland was his immense wardrobe. One might expect him to adjust to the changed situation campaigning represents, but only because one does not know Hal Cromwell. Essex is, if anything, more obssessed than ever with cutting an elegant, dashing figure, something that has rendered him slightly ridiculous to his fellows, who don't take much prompting to see the son of Gregory Cromwell as ridiculous.

The only friend the Earl has acquired is Sir Gilbert Humphrey, who has quickly taken to regaling Essex with dissertations on his various interests for hours and hours at a time. The reason this has become a friendship is because Essex genuinely finds Sir Humphrey fascinating to listen to. Sir Humphrey naturally appreciates having found someone who can listen to him discourse on things like alchemy without suddenly announcing that they have to get going, right now, and so the pair have become thick as thieves.

And so affairs in Ireland... continue. The Originalists are rampaging throughout most of the island, the English are rampaging in the rest of it, and anyone not belonging to one of these two groups is in a bad way.

--In Vienna the sudden death of Suleiman is hailed as a heaven-sent miracle. With Hungary suddenly safe, more or less, the question becomes what to do next. Ferdinand is still for supporting the region, as well as sending more troops against the Heidelberg Compact. Alba is forced to scotch that one--Spain has reached an under the table arrangement with the Duke of Lorraine to stay out of the Rhine fighting. (This may seem baffling, but considering the situation in Low Countries, Philip is scared of Lorraine troops charging into Burgundian territory, allying with Protestant--or even Catholic--malcontents and quite possibly annexing the whole region, with Lorraine perhaps paying a visit to the grave of his family's old nemesis Charles the Bold to piss on it while shouting "Who's King of Lotharinga now, asshole? Who's King of Lotharinga now?") Ferdinand is slightly resentful--this increases suspicions that Alba's troops are there more to serve Spain's interests than Austria's--but still understands these concerns and hopes to use the troops to shore up his position in Hungary. Maria considers this a waste of manpower. Don't they have full garrisons there? What do they have to fear? The Transylvanians? HA! Maria has a plan to take care of any trouble they MIGHT cause without sending out a single troop. One that is already in motion...

Ferdinand is somewhat skeptical that his wife's plan is as good as she imagines. In truth, relations between the "King" and "Queen of the Romans" have become even poorer then they used to be, with the pair regularly having... rather heated discussions behind closed doors wherein each questions the other's competence and even sanity. Ferdinand regularly accuses his wife of being a bloodthirsty virago, while Maria considers Ferdinand weak-willed and hesitant. Both are mad at each other over the entire Hohenzollern affair--Ferdinand for the arrest of the Elector and the Duke, Maria for her husband's efforts to get them released, which she sees as signaling weakness to the enemy. While she's able to block the Elector Joachim's release, Duke Albert the Elder is let go, not the least because the King of Poland is among the petitioners. Albert swears he will not take up arms against the Austrians if he is released, and he is true to his word--he simply continues to fund his eldest son's war efforts.

The hideous discord between the ruling couple is of course, perfect grist for Protestant propaganda mills, which begin producing a series of pamphlets that contrast the Archduke's marriage with the Elector of Saxony's, complete with amusing woodcuts of showing the weak and effeminate Ferdinand and the fierce and manly Maria bickering, often labelling her 'King of the Romans', and him 'Queen'. Austria responds by attempting to paint the Electress Elizabeth as "the English She-Wolf" who lead her tractable husband into war--this will eventually catch on, though not to the same extent (and indeed, with a strange measure of admiration for the Electress).

The impasse continues for some time, with the odds gradually tilting towards Ferdinand. And then something horrible happens. Philippine gives birth to their latest child--a second bastard son, who will be christened Leopold--and then comes down with a fever. She expires two weeks later. Ferdinand is devastated, all his recovery from his fugue undone at a stroke. He collapses back into his previous isolation, his only company, aside from the occasional visit from Strada, being he and Philipine's children--Ferdinand of Austria, Catherine, Veronica, and little baby Leopold. This leaves Maria holding the field--and that means Alba's army is marching on Bohemia. Alba, despite his misgivings, gets to work. Whatever his flaws, it can't be said he doesn't follow orders.

--The Scottish Parliament meets to discuss the proposed Episcopacy. Things take a rather worrying turn when it is discovered John Knox has gathered a smattering of followers, and is hanging around Parliament preaching doom and disaster. The assembled Lords are rather surprised at the man's following--Knox's opinion in the upper reaches of Scottish Protestantism happens to be considerably lower than the man's opinion of himself, especially since his rather scandalous marriage to the young Margaret Stewart[38]. Knox spends a great deal time talking about Judea and Israel, the general gist of which is that Judea getting pulled into a war by Israel would be a bad thing, especially as Judea really can't rely on Israel. And he mentions the Presbytery quite a bit, making it abundantly clear that it's how Christ wanted his Church assembled, and that tossing it away would be very, very bad. Taken together the message of all this is that England wants to corrupt Scotland, and also have it spill blood that doesn't need to be spilled. "We're right and we don't need to change at all", and "why we should get involved in somebody else's fight?" are a couple of messages that always tend to find an audience. Knox's crowd is definitely taking them well, a fact he hopes will cause a few of the Lords to have a... change of heart.

Parliament begins, and despite Knox's intimidation efforts--because, yeah that's what they are--most of the members are still in favor of the Episcopacy--they're getting good deals on it, and when push comes to shove, their Queen and her husband are a hell of lot scarier than Knox. And then comes an event that changes the Scottish political world forever. Hector MacLean, head of the Clan MacLean, reveals he has brought a petitioner with him--Sorleigh Buidh MacDonald. The assembled Lords are somewhat surprised--the MacDonalds/Mac Domnalls have always been a tad rebellious even by Highlander standards. But Sorleigh's here, and he's got a story to tell the assembled Lords--about how the Originalists attacked the MacDonalds in Ireland, and on Rathlin Island[39], killing Sorleigh's brother Colla. And how they brutally slaughtered them. Men, women and children. Frequently, after torture. Often involving crucifixes, and... I'll stop right here, because there are probably children reading this.

The assembled Lords are horrified by all this. True, many of these people have done pretty brutal things themselves over the years, and will go on to do brutal things in the future. But somehow this... touches a nerve, crosses some invisible line. Or perhaps it's just the knowledge that these people are just over what is suddenly seeming like one very narrow channel. And so, suddenly, the Scots are very much in favor of their Queen's call to aid the English in suppressing the Originalist menace.

As the Lords file out, John Knox sees them, and having heard some accounts of what's happened inside, realizes that he has almost certainly lost this one. At this point, most men would try for a dignified exit--but this is John Knox, and he is always certain that one last volley might just win it for him. And so Knox takes the definite step that will make certain that instead of going down in history as one of the fathers of the Scottish Reformation, he will go down as a man who regularly winds up the near the top of 'Worst Scots of All Time" lists. Spotting a grim-looking Archibald Campbell, he calls out "What's this? Weeping for Papists?"

Archibald Campbell is an extremely dedicated Protestant, even for a Scot, and especially for a Highlander. And there is no love lost between the Clans Campbell and MacDonald.[40] Which is what makes the Earl of Argyll's reaction so noteworthy. Striding towards Knox, the Earl takes a swing that knocks the preacher to the ground, then bellows 'Thou art a shitting prophet!" at the man[41]. Knox's followers are too shocked to have much of a reaction to that, especially with the growing realization that another, larger angry crowd is starting to surround them. And so, Knox and his band leave, realizing they've lost this fight. Still, Knox is hopeful. He will take his message to the people, who, he is certain will remain dedicated to the twin causes of the True Reformed Scottish Church and Scotland for the Scots.

--Relations between the four major parties in the Livonian War are complicated by one of the minor ones--Magnus Vasa, Duke of Estonia has been training his Estonian militia by taking it into Livonian territory (usually accompanied by a mix of experienced Swedish and Finnish troops, topped off by a smattering of mercenaries) and engaging in what boils down to banditry. In theory he's targeting enemies of Sweden--in practice, he's targetting EVERYBODY; Danes, Poles, Livonians, and Russians. This is making relations between Sweden and the others... tense, especially Russia, who the Swedes have pretty much counted as a de facto ally in this mess up till now. It doesn't get much to make Ivan see a doublecross, and he's now half-convinced that Erik's former posture of friendship was nothing but the Vasa playing him for a fool. Ivan doesn't take to that, he a descendent of the Emperor Augustus' brother Prus being mocked by a mere elected king[42], and so when the Danes start suggesting that they can come to an arrangement, he bites. Magnus Oldenburg, Duke of Ostel, heads in secret to Moscow to enter discussions with the Tsar.

Magnus Vasa, Duke of Estonia cares not a bit about the spot he's putting his brother in and indeed, writes gushing letters to his brother on how well the Estonians are picking up their new trade. "They know the land well, they march without tiring, and they fight without fear," exclaims the Duke. "What wonders I shall do with these men!" Magnus gives a sample of the sort of "wonders" he's thinking of when rumors of his despoilings flush his brother Johan out of hiding. Johan--who's hoping to capture and ransom his brother, or perhaps even flip him so that Johan has support for another attempt on the Swedish throne--leads a small force against Magnus' bands, only to be caught in an ambush. The former Duke of Finland's horse is knocked out from under him, pinning him--Magnus personally deals with his brother. While the story is somewhat obscured by multiple accounts and constant retellings, the general outline is this--Magnus threatens Johan with a halberd, screaming for Johan to beg him for mercy. Johan promptly does so--Magnus considers it for a moment, then declares he denies Johan his mercy, and hacks him to death. The very pregnant Catherine Vasa flees Livonia with what remains of Johan's household to return home to Poland.

It all goes into Magnus' next letter home. Erik, on reading it, goes very pale, and retires into his room to pray. When one man suggests bringing Magnus back home, Joran Perrson famously declares 'Do you really want that madman here?' While the question is never answered, the unstated consensus is no, they don't.

--As the Estates General assembles it becomes clear that at least one part of King Henri's plan will not come to pass--the engagement of the new Dauphin-to-be Francois to the old Dauphin-that-was Francois' widow Renata of Lorraine is NOT going to happen, in the face of opposition from quite a few parties, among them, Queen Catherine, most of the gentry, the Pope, and the lady's brother, Duke Charles of Lorraine. As Lorraine is busily demonstrating in the Second Schmalkaldic War that he is not a man to take lightly, this pretty much scotches it, though Henri is able to get out of paying back Renata's dowry, which, as it was his real motive for proposing the match, means he counts it as a win.

Obviously, this leaves the matter open of who the prospective Dauphin is marrying--and this proves a weighty matter indeed. Given that the major reason for trying to bypass older brother Henri of Orleans is his Protestantism, a properly Catholic match is needed--but the sad truth is Catholic princesses are an increasingly rare commodity. Leaving aside the Hapsburgs, who apart from the old feud are looking like an increasingly dodgy investment, there's little Jadwiga of Poland--very, very young, of extremely uncertain health, and from a family that's rather shaky on the whole "properly Catholic" thing--and a handful of eligible Italian ladies. Henri has his own favorite--the Prince's young first cousin Louise de Savoie, one of the Bloodyhead's little sisters. This may seem odd, but he feels a more or less internal marriage might actually be a good idea in this case, avoiding foreign entanglements, and shoring up loyalties within France's dominions for his son. Besides, his sister and her husband have fallen into the habit of... glaring at him at times since the last Italian War, for some... strange reason. It might be a worthwhile idea to get on their good sides.

As for Renata, her brother has his own grand match planned for her--Renata's former suitor, King Erik of Sweden. The present success of Erik against Denmark has changed him in Lorraine's eyes from the ruler of a Scandanavian backwater to the man in the north to watch--further, Frederick II taking a beating can't help but warm Lorraine's heart. You see, his mother is Christina of Denmark, daughter of the deposed Christian II, and by her accounting, if no one else's, Queen of Denmark, Sweden and Norway. Christina, who's returned to her son's court after a lengthy absence as part of Duke Charles' ongoing proof to his Protestant allies that he's one of the GOOD Catholics, has been keen on the idea of marrying her daughter to Erik for years now[43]. She is very happy about this, and works on getting Renata to see that this is a good thing--after marriage to a stunted, dying princeling she's marrying an accomplished, vigorous king. Renata, being a dutiful daughter nods and accepts all this.

--On the eve of the Castillian Cortes' meeting, Princess Elizabeth goes into labour. Once again, her husband makes certain that the finest French doctors and the best midwives are on hand, and once again, the birthing manages to pass without major incident. The child--another surprisingly healthy son--is christened 'Charles Ferdinand'(as the babe's father confirms to Europe that, yes, Charles von Hapsburg Prince of the Asturias is a slightly odd fellow) amid a spectacular celebration the Prince orders, complete with fireworks. Philip still in mourning for his dead wife is somewhat irked at all this, especially since it makes him think about Maria's pregnancy, which didn't go nearly as well. He soon finds some comfort--his son will not be attending the Cortes, choosing to spend his time, he informs his father by letter, helping his wife recuperate. Philip feigns irritation at the Prince neglecting his duties, but is secretly delighted. This means, he imagines, no shenanigans on Charles' part.

The Cortes proves to be... exceedingly packed, filled with people who... somebody... has suggested that this might just be a good time to get their business with the Spanish Crown done. And then it happens. Someone notices the Prince isn't there. The news quickly circultates and is enlarged by speculation as to why. And then... people start to get nervous. As the Cortes begin, someone--their exact identity obscure--shouts out, asking where the Prince is? The resulting answer--in Toledo with his wife and children--fails to impress. People begin to mutter. Then shout. Then carry on. Eventually a small riot breaks out, causing many of the Cortes' Deputies to flee. The disorder eventually spreads to Toledo where the rumors have now taken a definite form--Charles is under house arrest for some reason. (Either his championing of the Moriscos--on the grounds of feudal tradition of course--or his celebrating the birth of his latest son.) A crowd heads to Charles' apartments, eager to assist him. The Prince defuses the situation by appearing with the Infantes Charles Maria and Charles Ferdinand in tow, kindly thanking the crowd for their concern, gently chiding them for disturbing the peace, and then bidding them all to return to their homes. They listen to him. From Toledo, the news quickly spreads--false alarm, people. The Prince is fine. No reason to be concerned.

King Philip looks over the debacle of this Cortes with... displeasure. After going to all the time and expense of calling a Cortes, he not only didn't get what he want, he got... this. And to make it worse, Philip knows who's responsible for all this, or at least, he thinks he does. Charles planned this, he tells the Prince of Eboli--the entire thing a carefully constructed plot meant to embarass and frustate him, the King of Spain. Ruy Gomez is less certain. Most historians, looking the matter over, are left scratching their heads, with the general consensus being that Charles might have been plotting something, but that even he was surprised by the extent of the reaction.

Of course, nobody is left questioning the results--Philip's mounting distrust for his son and heir continues to... well, mount, and is now married with a growing realization that Charles isn't just an annoying brat of a Prince--he's an active political danger with wide-ranging, dedicated popular support. This will have to be handled, the King decides, delicately...

--Michel l'Hopital arrives in Mantua to begin discussions with the Pope. Pius welcomes him with a performance of Alessandro Striggio's forty-voice motet Ecce beatam lucem, itself adapted from an ode by the Protestant Latin poet Paul Messilus[44]. Michel is, to his own astonishment, moved to tears by the music, thus allowing Pius to start off on the right foot. The aging, yet still tremendously charismatic Pope starts off by noting to Michel that this motet is exactly the sort of thing he wants to preserve in the Church. He mentions the upheavals in France--which he assures l'Hopital he still loves as a second home--and the recent disturbances in England as examples of the Reforming instinct run amok. Further, he assures the French emissary of his respect for what the Cardinal de Lorraine is trying to do--he simply wants to make sure that nobody goes too far. The somewhat overawed l'Hopital of course assures his pontiff that his kindness, mercy and understanding are of course appreciated, and that he's certain the Archbishop of Reims is willing to work something out.

--In Persia, "Mughal Emperor" Akbar enjoys a meal with Shah Tahmasp and Prince Bayezid and his family, returning to court after his latest failure to retake his ancestoral throne. Once again, a seemingly perfect opportunity--in this case, riots and uprisings that started following Islam Shah Suri's deposing of Akbar's cousin Jalal Mirza as his governor of Kabul--has failed to pan out. Things started out promising, as they always have, with soldiers and men flocking to Akbar's side, celebrating the return of their rightful liege--and then Islam Shah showed up with his troops. To Akbar's credit, he did surprisingly well against the formidable Sultan of Dehli, but in the end, Islam Shah demonstrated just why he rules a large chunk of northern India, right up to the pieces that we'd call "Afghanistan". Still, Akbar muses, next time... next time...

Which is when Shah Tahmasp's guards seize him and drag him away from the table[45]. Akbar is swiftly bound and sent to Islam Shah, with Tahmasp's compliments. Akbar will be brought before a gathering that includes Islam Shah Suri, his son Firuz, and Firuz's wife (and Akbar's cousin) Haji Begum at which point he will be stabbed to death in what Islam Shah will swear was a misunderstanding. So ends the life of Akbar, "Emperor of the Mughals". The late Akbar was not the only claimant to the title; his cousin Jalal Mirza has a right to it, though it's hard to exercise that from the bottom of a pit in Dehli, and his uncle, Hindal, "Prince of Samarkand",[46] also uses the title from time to time, though he's little more than a minor Uzbeki vassal who the Uzbeks keep around because they find it hilarious to have a descendent of Timur on hand. But with Akbar's death, the chance of the line of Timur reclaiming Babur's empire has become almost nil.

Of course, much of that is to come. Back at the Shah's dinner table, Tahmasp explains that to Prince Bayezid that he's decided he's willing to back his claim to the empire of his forefathers. Bayezid nods and notes that he is of course, enthusiastic about his task.

If the display he's just witnessed has taught him anything it's that he better be.

--The Estates General meeting truly begins, and it is a tangled mess that sees violence, intrigue, blackmail, and French people not liking each other very much. The battle lines are swiftly drawn--and they are infinitely more complicated than people expected.

Let's start with the First Estate--no one expects the priests to have many--or for that matter, any--real Huguenots among their number, and they don't. But Cardinal de Lorraine, sporting the black habit that's causing many to dub him "Cardinal Noir", is both the premiere cleric in France AND head of a surprisingly large faction of moderates and Catholic evangelicals who are willing to come to a deal with the Huguenots. As the Cardinal paints it, if the Huguenots--and Henri of Orleans in particular--are willing to make a few compromises, the Politiques are more than willing to have the young man be the Dauphin. And that compromise--rejoin the Catholic Church under the auspices of the Cardinal's new Gallican Rite. Cardinal de Lorraine is opposed by the hardliners, lead by his cousin Cardinal de Bourbon, "Cardinal Rouge", who paint denying Henri of Orleans the throne as their holy duty. Ironically, while Cardinal de Bourbon likes to paint himself as the traditional defender of the Old Faith, most of his faction are in low-rankers in the Gallic Church hierarchy--parish priests, and the like--who he is in fact encouraging to distrust and despise their superiors, thus breaking down a great deal of the traditional order he claims to be defending. Indeed, some of the more genuinely traditional Cardinals are quite horrified with Cardinal de Bourbon, most notably Cardinal Georges d'Armagnac, Archbishop of Toulouse and Tours.

Next up, the Second Estate. Here is the main body of Huguenots--indeed, nearly half of those attending count themselves as members of the Reformed Church, with another quarter being Politique Catholics. This should not be confused with radicalism--much like the First Estate, the general feeling here is one of people not wanting to upset the boat too much, though a few like d'Andelot are quite radical indeeed. But as is becoming clear, the Huguenots are no longer a movement on the margins--many of the most powerful members of the nobility are in it, or at least sympathisizers.

And now, where most of the firebrands are hanging out--the Third Estate. Here the Catholic majority is strong--and comitted. No Huguenot shall sit on the throne of France. There's also an equally opinionated Huguenot minority, and even a smattering of moderate Poliques, and the one thing they all have in common is they are a hell of a lot more opinionated than most of their counterparts in the First and Second Estates. Everyone--even the Politques--is certain that they are the ones who know how to save the country, and the other guys are bunch of arrogant jerks eager to destroy it. Discussions between the Third Estate Deputies tend to be... colorful as a result.

Needless to say, an exact detailing of the offical talk of the Estates-General would be both lengthy and exhausting, and indeed, frequently irrelevant. Much of the real work is going on behind the scenes, where Cardinal de Lorraine works fervently, trying to get Henri of Orleans to sign on to the program that will let the Cardinal make him heir to the throne. Which isn't to say exciting things aren't happening in the Estates--they are. There are moments of drama, such as when d'Andelot and six other Huguenot deputies--Godefroy de Barry, seigneur de La Renaudie; Charles de Castelnau de Chalosse; Bouchard d'Aubeterre; Edme de Ferrière-Maligny; Jean d'Aubigné; and Ardoin de Porcelet[47]--step forward to propose an alternative plan of Huguenot toleration. (That plan runs, roughly, as follows--the Huguenots will be granted their own churches. And fortresses to protect them. And the right to keep their own militas to man the fortresses. Needless to say, it does not go over well with anyone who isn't a Huguenot[48].) And there are many, many scenes between Cardinal Noir and Cardinal Rouge.

Charles de Bourbon baits and badgers his cousin constantly, and the tempermental Cardinal de Lorraine frequently rises to his baiting. Bourbon notes on many occasions that he has certain knowledge that Cardinal Lorraine is in communication with no one less than John Calvin, engaging in secret meetings with Calvin's right hand Theodore Beza--Lorraine's silence on the matter convinces many that Bourbon is hitting his mark, and they are right[49]. He pesters Lorraine for holding his vernacular Masses at Reims, to which Lorraine snaps that at least he can hold a service in his diocese without being hanged. (Rouen has remained under a Huguenot regime since the riots, a sort of Geneva or Strasbourg on the Normandy coast. Cardinal Bourbon keeps pestering Henri II to send him up there with an army to... get his archbishopric in order, but as Henri lives in fear of riots starting up again, he's holding back for now.)

But the most fevered--and damaging--exchange occurs when Bourbon presses Cardinal Lorraine on the doctrine of transubstantiation. Bourbon asks his cousin if, in "his" Gallican Church, they will recognize the validity of this ancient doctrine--Lorraine replies evasively that this will be determined by the church councils. Bourbon presses further--what doctrine does Lorraine hope they'll recognize then? Whatever logic and divine revelation indicate is correct, replies Lorraine. And Cardinal de Lorraine has no personal feelings on the matter? None that cannot wait for a council. Bourbon is certain he has his cousin pinned--or close to it. So, the Cardinal de Lorraine's feeling on the Real Presence cannot be shared in public? That does not sound good. And so, at last, with a sigh, Lorraine attempts to explain his feelings on transubstantiation. He has, he admits, "grave doubts" on this doctrine[50]. It has no scriptural basis, and a rather shaky traditional one--further, the Cardinal finds it "ungainly", the logic behind it.... questionable. And now Cardinal de Bourbon is certain he has him.

It is marvelous to hear the Cardinal de Lorraine act as if he knows better than the Pope--indeed than the entire Council of Mantua. Does Lorraine possess some special grant from the Church or the Heavens that allow him to overthrow doctrine on a whim? And at this, partially because he's sick of being badgered, and partially because he's realized that he's burned his bridges, Lorraine loses his temper and shouts "It is not doctrine, it's nonsense! Damnable, Aristolean nonsense!" He then follows this up with a lengthy rant on transubstantiation's flaws, affirms his belief in the Real Presence, and adds that he considers the Lutheran/Anglican interpretation "worthy and admirable".

Lorraine will attempt to walk away from these statements, but the damage is done. While he retains a devoted band of followers, many senior churchmen now see Charles de Guise as a dangerous radical--Cardinal d'Armagnac is said to privately note to Lorraine that 'where you have gone, I cannot follow.' And of course this is not the only disaster he faces.

The Cardinal's entire compromise rests on Henri of Orleans being willing to rejoin the Church under the auspices of the Gallican Rite. But Orleans is stubbornly, stunningly unwilling to do this. Despite the efforts of Antoine de Bourbon (who supposedly says "For France, I would say Masses in Latin, and let the Priest drink from the cup--you would be getting it cheap"[51],) and more subtly Conde, the Prince will not be swayed. Some of this is the young boy's growing realization of his power over the Huguenot movement--his only real rivals are the Bourbons, both of whom lack Orleans' charisma, and suffer from rather suspect reputations as well. (Antoine is, once again, seen as an opportunist without any true convictions, while the Prince of Conde, though admired for his courage, is seen as somewhat duplicitous--and something of a womanizer to boot. And by 'womanizer', I am talking about behaviors that would cause people from more enlightened times to consider you a serial rapist.) But mostly it is sincere religious conviction on Henri's part--his faith has been bought with pain and suffering, and he will not cast it away for earthly rewards. "I will not gain a crown on Earth to lose the crown waiting for me in heaven," proclaims the boy. France must accept her rightful king as he is, with no strings attached.

And so, as it becomes clear that Cardinal Lorraine's compromise has one major member--Cardinal Lorraine--the Politique coalition he's built falls apart.[52] The Politiques decide, for the most part, to back the most managable course of action, and grant Henri II's wish. Francois is now the Dauphin, by the decision of all Three Estates. Many Huguenots rant and rave--in a secret meeting, Conde, d'Andelot, and "the Brave Six" pledge to young Henri of Orleans that they will make certain that the Crown passes to its rightful holder, when the time comes.

As for Cardinal Lorraine, he leaves the Estates General--after abstaining to vote on the measure--in very low spirits. Returning to Reims, he continues to wear his black habit and hold his Gallican Masses. The arrival of Michel l'Hopital to inform him that the Pope has decided to allow him to continue, on a provisional basis, while the Council considers the matter, causes Charles de Guise to note 'But a week earlier that would have made me a happy man.' The Cardinal of Lorraine is now the most politically isolated man in France.

--The Duke of Alba's army descends on Bohemia, despite Alba's misgivings on the project. John Frederick, he notes, no longer needs to win some glorious battle to show he's got staying power--he's already done that, and reaped the benefits. As things now stand, the Elector can just hole up in Bohemia and Saxony's cities, let the Austrian forces exhaust themselves in pointless sieges, then hit them when they're sufficiently worn down. Maria is certain however, that the Elector of Saxony will do no such thing. He is a vainglorious fool, she notes, eager for battle--he will certainly snatch at the bait that is Alba's Spanish army. And so Alba has headed forth, planning on besieging Budweis.

To his surprise, an army does appear and attack him immediately. However, it is not the Elector's, but instead that of Frederick of Legina, the Piast Duke having decided to make his bid for immortality, leading a force of spirited Bohemians determined to face down the Iberian Papist menace. They get their chance, and swiftly regret it, as Alba's forces make mincemeat of them. The city of Budweis comes to terms immediately, partially because it's unnerved by Legina's defeat, partially because it's one of the few Catholic strongholds in Bohemia and was always just a tad uncertain about siding with the Wettins[53]. As Alba continues on his way to Jankau, deciding this might not have been such a bad idea after all.

At Jankau, all his earlier prophesies come to pass. Alba has left "Catholic Bohemia", and reached those portions that will not surrender to a Spanish army without a fight. The city holds them off for weeks, at which point the Elector arrives with an army, forcing them to retreat. While Alba succeeds in keeping his forces intact, it is still a difficult withdrawal. Many of the Catholic Bohemians that looked the other way on his entry now join in singeing Alba's army in its retreat. Alba responds by various acts of despoilment that, while they do cause the Saxons some discomfort largely succeed in alienating the Bohemian Catholics. John Frederick takes the opportunity to install a garrison in Budweis under the leadership of Albert the Younger of Prussia, before returning back to Prague where he discovers that Elizabeth has born him another son. Young John Casimir is said to have been born almost prophetically listening to the sound of cannonfire from one of his father's battles--while the tale's a little dubious, the regard and affection the Bohemians feel for the young Saxon most certainly is not.

Back in Vienna, Maria considers the attack a success--if nothing else, it's been proven that Austria's back in the game. Franconia is back under Hapsburg control, albeit with pockets of heavy resistance--the Prince of Calenburg has written a letter offering to return to the Catholic fold, and assist Vienna in return for some... very special renumeration. And while her idiot brother-in-law has finally returned, and is trying to wrest power from her, Maria stands confident in the fact that nobody respects Charles Francis, Archduke of Tyrol except, possibly, the Tyroleans. (And even they do so more out of affection than anything else.) Life, for the nonce, is... acceptable.

--In England, the aged Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London dies.[54] Ridley was a widely loved and respected figure--even his perenniel theogical sparring partner Archbishop Hooper acknowledges his passing as a loss.[55] Ridley's position is quickly filled by Edmund Grindal, a mild-tempered, politically moderate divine widely agreed to be going places.[56]

Sadly for Grindal, that promising career is going to stall, all thanks to his new bishopric, the long-standing Puritan/Libertine debate, the man's easy-going nature, and some things that really aren't his fault.

Grindal's first service sees the Bishop throwing in a few hymns from the hymnal recently published under Norfolk's aegis with some orchestration written by the recently-returned and incredily thankful to be back Thomas Talis. To Grindal's mind, little enough--indeed, little more than a project his predecessor was planning on trying out prior to his death. Unfortunately for Grindal, he doesn't know London parish, and more importantly, London doesn't know him.

Thus as the music begins, a group of angry Puritans rise to their feet and loudly protest. While it's a given this sort of church music wouldn't be very pleasing to them, many later comments make it clear that what really upsets them is that it's coming from a new bishop. Had Ridley lived to see this service performed, it's likely the most negative reaction would be a bit of grumbling afterwards--Ridley was a known and trusted quantity. However, coming from a new Bishop, it is alarming--many Puritans worry that they are seeing the gauntlet being thrown down. Grindal's attempts to pour oil on the waters fail, the new Bishop's characteristic mildness appearing to many of London's Puritans as half-hearted insincerity. Still, the whole affair MIGHT have eventually blown over had another figure not stuck his oar in.

Thomas Trilby, Bishop of Westminster[57], is something of a minor figure in the Church hierarchy, usually more concerned with his own political survival and his ongoing feud with the Dean and College of Westminster than theological disputes. While Trilby is seen by the Puritans as a Libertine, Libertines themselves call him a 'cold' Libertine--that is to say, a crypto-Catholic, with none of the actual convictions that mark a sincere or 'hot' Libertine. Having seen is career stall at Westminster--where again, he's been the target of complaints from a succession of Deans--looked on with suspicion by most of his fellows, and the political establishment, it has occurred to Trilby that he really, REALLY needs an ally. Grindal--who once again, is seen as a man who's going places--looks like he will do quite nicely. And so Trilby decides to help the Bishop of London, with a course of action that will kill poor Grindal's career as dead as Trilby's, and turn Trilby from 'that guy we all suspect is secretly a Papist but don't particularly care about' to 'the most hated Bishop in England aside from the Pope'. (Not that he knows that, obviously, hindsight being 20/20.)

Trilby, eager to score some brownie points, and possibly get support to transfer to a less bothersome bishopric, writes a letter of support in Grindal's favor in which he states that if Grindal as a bishop wishes to have his hymns performed in this manner, that's his right as a bishop, and the parishoners are just going to have to take it. "It is the bishop's duty to decide matters for his flock and the flock's duty to obey and be unto him as children."

This argument manages to offend everyone in the Anglican Church who isn't Thomas Trilby. As the actual Libertines start sputtering and trying to come up with a better argument, the Puritans spring to action. Robert Crowley, Puritan firebrand, protester and pamphleteer[58] writes a tract wherein he paints Trilby and Grindal as a pair of secret Papists working in union, implies--but does not openly state--that they have sympathetic patronage in the highest levels of the establishment, and goes on to suggest that the whole matter of hymns is in fact a conspiracy by those patrons to sneak Papism in through the back door.

The immediate result of this is Crowley gets arrested and goes to the Fleet--AGAIN. (This is something of a habit for the man.) However, his pamphlets, despite efforts to supress them, circulate among England's Puritan population, causing fear and panic--and high-ranking Puritan divines to sputter and get to work just like their Libertine counterparts are doing. As his fellows get to work telling their parishoners that, while yes they should champion proper worship, no, the Pope is not hiding under their bed, John Foxe, Bishop of Southwell and Nottingham[59], Archbishop Hooper's right hand man, and best-selling author of Acts and Monuments, a Protestant history/matyrology largely focusing on the Lollards[60], the Latin play Christus Triumphans, and the English translation of the Life of Luther, gets to work. Foxe produces a less inflamatory argument that simple psalms sung plainly are the clear choice for a proper Anglican service. "Let us approach the Lord humbly, without gaudy adornment, and of one body." Foxe no sooner gets his "Writ On The Acceptable Forms Of Worship For Those Who Are In The Body Of Christ" to the publishers, then he discovers that Richard Cox, Bishop of Ely and quite possibly the hottest "hot" Libertine alive, has put out his 'A Consideration Of The Offering Of David To The LORD, Which It Would Be Most Profitable For Modern Parishoners To Keep Before Them'. After doing a swift review of Cox's work, a scripturely-backed one arguing that God enjoys people doing their best for Him and that insisting otherwise is displeasing to Him, Foxe dashes out an afternote to his work where he takes on the Bishop of Ely's arguments. And it is on--the great ecclesiastic rivalry of Cox and Foxe, soon to be legendary in story and song. (Aided, of course, by the fact that their names rhyme.)[61]

After these two come the deluge--bishops, preachers and pamphleteers start chiming in, as battle lines are drawn. The dispute permeates all levels of society--indeed many cities see young apprentices duking it out in the street. A sizable crowd of Puritan apprentices assemble before Charing Cross singing a Psalm in good old plainstyle, only to be met by an equally sizable crowd of Libertine apprentices who sing a hymn in counterpoint. If the whole thing sounds charming, the next bit, where they start trying to break each other's heads most certainly is not. In many ways this incident is anything too new--Charing Cross has seen frequent scuffles between Puritan and Libertine apprentices over the years[62]. But the size is alarming, and the singing is an interesting twist. Perhaps it's this combination of novelty and theatricality that helps the "Dispute of the Hymnals" take off where previous Libertine/Puritan disputes have merely simmered. But take off it most certainly has.

--Eric von Calenburg finds that his dreams of expansion into the West have met a hitch--the dioceses of Munster and Osnabruck, realizing that they are facing an actual threat, send a missive to Archbishop Salentin, offering to elect him in return for protection. The "Armored Archbishop" responds in the affirmative, and quickly arrives with troops. As von Isenburg adds the two bishoprics to his growing territory--while coming to an arrangement with the von Waldeks. As the year ends, the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel and the Archbishop of Cologne prepare for the coming battle...

--In Ireland, the Lord Admiral's forces continue to rampage throughout Kildare County. At a meal one evening, Buckingham has a confrontation with Essex over the latter's misgivings--unbeknownst to his nephew, the Hon. Thomas Cromwell has been circulating stories of the inner tensions and doubts over Dudley's leadership to receptive political allies, most notably the Paulets and Cecils. The Lord Admiral interprets all this as Essex scheming to discredit him. Essex makes a limp apology, explaining to Buckingham that he hold's the Earl's 'honest and deep esteem'. The Lord Admiral appears to accept that, but when the time comes to get back on the move, Cromwell finds himself left behind in Kildare Town with a motley collection of stragglers, discipline cases, and wounded soldiers. His orders--keep the town. When the Lord Admiral last sees the man, the Earl of Essex is ordering his ragged band to surround Kildare Town "like a Roman camp, with ramparts".

Buckingham notes to Sir Sydney that he suspects Hal Cromwell will survive a week.

A little over two weeks later, the Lord Admiral's son, John Dudley the Younger, Earl of Westmorland and Leicester, is leading the English van when they come upon an Irish force. The Irishmen are swiftly routed and killed. Dudley decides this calls for a bit a celebration, and breaks out some liquor. (Admittedly, it doesn't take much for Dudley to break out some liquor.) And so, Dudley, most of his officers, and a good portion of his men are drunk as lords when the sizable Originalist force that the Irismen they beat--a remnant of the Earl of Desmond's forces--were running from. Dudley is by this point so drunk that any intelligent plan regarding this turn of events on his part is an impossibility--however, this is not true of everyone, and a message to the Lord Admiral is sent off. On learning that his beloved son and heir is in trouble, Buckingham rushes off with most of his forces--right into the Originalists. This not only manages to be a very bad idea, it's also a pointless one--his son is already dead by the time he gets there, along with most of the van. The resulting battle is chaotic, and sees the Lord Admiral and Sir Sydney killed, among many, many others. In the end, Wiltshire, his half-brother Strafford, and Sir Humphrey Gilbert wind up taking control of the troops, and pulling of a skilled retreat. The battered English forces fall back to Kildare Town, in the desperate hope that some sort of relief may be found there.

There, the scene of devastation they find shocks them. The area around Kildare Town is heaped with bodies. But even more shocking--Cromwell has survived, immaculate as ever, along with almost all of his men. (The handful of fatalities he has suffered are all from earlier wounds.) The Earl of Essex recounts his tale. About a week after Buckingham left him there, a mob of Irish Originalists attacked--not so much actual troops as an angry rabble. For three days, Essex and his rag-tag band of misfits held them off, until the Originalists realized that God wasn't going to make the English men all die, and broke off the attack. Essex, Wiltshire, Strafford and Gilbert, on reviewing all that's occurred, are left suspecting a brilliant Originalist plot to divide and conquer--in fact, they are overestimating the Originalists by a wide margin. The two attacks were made completely independently of each other the result of the Originalists' rather loose-knit organisation, and heavy popular component.

Indeed, even as Shane O'Neill celebrates--by some accounts enjoying the delivery of the heads of the Lord Admiral and his son to him--his troops have taken significant damage in the upcoming battle. While the Originalists still have great numbers, they made more and more out of untrained enthusiasts His control of Ireland may be at its greatest extent--but is quite brittle.

Not that the English realize that. Indeed, they have more immediate problems--with Buckingham and Sir Sydney dead, their command structure is rather... uncertain. Ambrose Dudley--who by rights, with his father and elder brother dead is the new Duke of Buckingham--has a certain precedence, but he's not exactly a born leader, nor does he have much of an idea of what to do. Wiltshire for his part thinks he should be in charge due to being-- you know, competant. Essex manages to put oil on the waters by getting Ambrose to agree to listen to Carey and Strafford--and for that matter, Essex. Little brother Guildford is sent with Sir Gilbert to secure Cork, from which he will be sent back to England to inform people of what's happened here. And so things settle down, with Ambrose in nominal command, but the four-man team of Wiltshire, Sir Strafford, Essex, and Sir Gilbert actually determining policy.

--In occupied Lithuania, Andrei Kurbsky goes over the wall of the fortress he commands, accompanied by his son and several loyal retainers[63]. This small group makes it way to Polish Lithunania, and surrender to the local forces. The Prince offers letters and a ring from Sigismund Augustus as proof of his sincerity--he is still initially imprisoned and the possessions and funds he's brought with seized. However, once the King of Poland verifies Kurbsky's story, Prince Andrei and his men are released. Kurbsky swears himself into Sigismund's service, declaring that he had simply reached his limit with Ivan. The viciousness--the arbitrariness--the madness--has all been too much. Sigismund announces he's overjoyed to have acquired the services of a man as accomplished as Prince Kurbsky[64].

Ivan on learning of his general's defection--in the midst of celebration of the birth of a son, who will be named Vasily--curses Prince Andrei for his treachery, has his family members seized, and swears that this is proof--PROOF--of what he's always been saying, that he's surrounded by traitors. How can a Tsar function with such a court, he screams--HOW?

Unfortunately for Russia, Ivan has some ideas on this subject, and he is, once again, Tsar.

--As it becomes increasingly clear that the Turkish conquest of Hapsburg Hungary has been called off, Transylvania appears to be settling down. And then Janos Sigismund calls a Diet. And so, once again, Transylvania's nobles shuffle off to Torda to dutifully listen to whatever mad fancy has taken their Prince this time. The Diet begins with the Prince granting his approval of John Sommer as new moderator of the Kolozsvár Academy.[65] This seems like a small matter, but the Transylvanian Saxon has recently returned from Moldavia, where Despot-Voivode Ioan Iacob Heraclid has perished at the hands of Stefan Tomsa. (The hetman has declared himself Voivode, though as yet, he's had no approval from Constantinople, which in fact seems content to ignore the entire situation[66].) And, since his return, a combination of listening to Ferenc David's arguments and the Prince and Princess being so very nice to him have gotten him to see the Unitarian light. Indeed, Sommer has not only converted--as the Diet learns, he has informed the Prince of a plot by various Transylvanian Saxons to replace his rule with the late Heraclid's. Janos inquires to those that are present if this is true--when they confess, he steps forward, embraces them one by one, and informs them that he forgives them. "My rule is based on the law of Christ," proclaims the Prince of Transylvania.

As that little scene finishes up, Istvan Batory steps forward and informs the Prince that agents of Maria of Spain met with him in Estergozem, and attempted to recruit him into leading a Catholic revolt against the Prince. Batory naturally refused, noting to them that if he had to follow a Prince, he'd follow a Hungarian Prince. (Austrian accounts reveal that this is a diplomatic version of what he actually said, which was if he had to follow a fool, he'd follow a Hungarian fool.) Batory wishes to know if the Prince is going to forgive this trespass as well.

Janos replies is that of course he is, just as he has forgiven the Hapsburgs for stealing the throne of Hungary from his family, in defiance of the will of the Diet. But that shouldn't be taken to mean that he's just going to do nothing. The death of Ferdinand I gives the young Prince an opportunity to reclaim Hungary and he will take it. Even now, the Diet of "Royal Hungary" meet in Presburg debating over who to give the throne. Janos has decided to march on the city and take the crown that is rightfully his, even without significant Turkish support.

The Diet is... somewhat taken aback the Prince's daring, which borders on the suicidal. Whatever their problems with Ferdinand II, there's a reason the Presburg Diet didn't suddenly declare for Janos the moment they learned Ferdinand I was dead--the Prince of Transylvania is viewed as a lightweight. The Presburg Diet were prepared to name him King when Suleiman's invasion was an ongoing concern--that would provide them with a decent figleaf--but now that he's dead, and Selim's eyes are turning towards Persia, they've shifted back to hemming and hawing and trying to figure out how much they can get away with demanding from Vienna this time. (They're thinking... lots.) The Transylvanian nobles ask how Janos plans to deal with the Hungarian garrisions. Janos replies that he possesses a weapon that should get him to Presburg and open its gates with a mininum of violence. The lords nod, skeptical, with many half-suspecting that Janos' "weapon" is "pray very fervently". At which point, his wife, the Princess Margaret appears, holding something which the Torda Diet quickly realizes is the Prince's secret weapon.

On seeing it, most of the nobles kneel, and over half of them burst into tears. Even doughty old Istvan Batory admits the fool might be onto something here. And so the Second War of Hungarian Succession begins, connected to, yet distinct from the Second Schmalkaldic War.

--England is in confusion. While the Lord Admiral's defeat is a far cry from Gregory's Cromwell utter disaster, it is still unexpected and demoralizing. It also requires immediate action--Henry will now have to raise a relief force. However, that will necessitate calling Parliament in session again--something that Henry's never fond of doing on such short notice and especially not fond after having done it before so recently. And there are other problems. The newly-launched Dispute of the Hymnals is now truly beginning to take off. The streets of London are filled with people singing--menacingly--at each other, Puritans holding their psalters and Libertines their hymnals. Similar movements are happening throughout England--Westminster is particularly wracked by people protesting Bishop Trilby. And as Henry considers all this and other problems--Arthur Fitzroy has ongoing complaints about his efforts against the Borderers, who the Duke of Richmond and Somerset has dubbed 'a persistent and dangerous threat to the peace of both Kingdoms'--many small farmers are troubled by recent crop failures--the entire Denmark matter--the Duke of York's continuous noises about the budget problems have shifted from furtive coughs to loud groans--he consoles himself with the fact that he is getting some good news, most of it from his wife. The Scottish Episcopacy is ON--the Scottish Lords are now positively enthusiastic about the whole war against the Originalists, with a host of Highlanders being raised to assist them--and oh, yes, the best news of all.

Mary is pregnant again.
---------------
[1]Walter Devereux, who by this time IOTL, was the 1st Earl of the 8th creation of the Earl of Essex.

[2] Similar developments in French politics occurred during the Wars of Religion OTL.

[3]I feel obligated to note that her marriage to Antoine de Bourbon was a love match, on her part at least, though she seems to have regretted it.

[4]IOTL, he served in this function for the Austrian Hapsburgs through the reigns of Ferdinand I, Maximilian II, and Rudolph II. Incidentally, Ferdinand of Further Austria was an art buff, even by Hapsburg standards IOTL as well.

[5]IOTL, having better people pleading for her, and facing lesser charges, she was allowed to take the veil, spending the rest of her days as a nun.

[6]Much of this is OTL--Ivan really did not treat Vladimir well at all.

[7]Again, very close to OTL happenings, albeit a bit sped up. IOTL, Kurbsky's son was a bit younger and thus had to be left behind with his mother.

I'll let you fill in the blanks.

[8]Frederick's drinking really was quite heavy by most accounts--something of a frequent problem for the Oldenburgs.

[9]IOTL, he became Regent in 1557. Here the in-fighting's actually delayed things.

[10]Amazingly enough, this was supposed to be the case IOTL, though it may have merely been a rumor.

[11]Nobunaga and Shigen's relationship was about this complicated at this point IOTL as well. The specifics ITTL will be gone into in a future post.

[12]While the Tamoyo did exist OTL, and were allied with the French, the leadership crisis that Brazil is facing was not happening at this point, though it is based on events similar to what occurred there. Again, explanation in a future post.

[13]Cunhambebe--which is closer to Quonambec in his native tongue, but this is what he's going to be known as ITTL as IOTL--died sometime around the arrival of the France Antarctique expedition IOTL of the plague. Here he's managed to escape infection.

[14]The Tupi were quite keen on using marriage to cement alliances--a fact that the Portuguese rather eagerly exploited in their settling of Brazil.

[15]Andre accompanied the Antarctique expedition IOTL as well, and even wrote a book on it.

[16]IOTL, Francois d'Orleans perished in 1551. It should be pointed out that Longueville is a bit higher-ranking than is the norm for ambassadorial work--he's gotten this job in hopes of exploiting his relationship with the Queen of Scots. (And again, most of his fellows are doing the actual work.)

[17]Interestingly enough, Montgomery's first born son was named 'Jacques' OTL as well, making the name of his and Antoinette's little bundle of joy quite inevitable.

[18]IOTL, writer of Jerusalem Delivered, arguably the last great example of Renaissance Italian Epic verse. (I was considering mentioning something about Cervantes here, but come on. You all know him.)

[19]IOTL, the work would be completed by Torquatto and renamed Rinaldo.

[20]This was also the case OTL--the play, by Lope de Vega was entitled 'Más mal hay en La Aldegüela de lo que suena'--'There are worse things in Aldehuela than you have dreamt of'.

[21]Alba took similar measures when transporting his forces to the Netherlands IOTL. Say what you will about the man--he knew troops.

[22]IOTL, last year saw the birth of the couple's--who married quite late--only surviving child, who was of course named Charles Emmanuel de Savoie.

[23]IOTL, he survived until 1597, but left no offspring. His titles were taken by a cousin, though the Papacy took the opportunity to seize Ferrara.

[24]IOTL, Frederick had a son of this name, who died in his early teens.

[25]IOTL, similar Palatinate pretensions lead to the name of a man familiar to many of us here--Prince Rupert of the Rhine. Yes, Rupert was intended to be a symbol of a triumphant Calvinism. Enjoy the irony.

[26]IOTL, his father's numerous efforts to turn his holdings into a hereditary Duchy came to nothing--here, while he didn't quite succeed, he was able to make sure that his eldest son got them on his death.

[27]Rumors of this sort surrounded Philip and the Princess of Eboli IOTL as well. Philip's womanizing is an aspect of his character that

[28]He also opposed similar plans IOTL.

[29]The pair had a similar meeting in 1566 OTL.

[30]A similar event occurred IOTL, though the odds were slightly better for the Croats--a mere five to one.

[31]Suleiman's death occurred in similar circumstance IOTL. Simply put he was just not up to campaigning at this time of his life.

[32]Hard as it is to believe, this occurred at Suleiman's death OTL as well.

[33]Similar disturbances occurred at Selim II's ascension to the throne OTL, where he had even less to worry about. Succession in the Ottoman Empire was never a particularly certain thing.

[34]Selim undertook similar actions IOTL. Nasi, incidentally, is one of those fascinating figures who should be in more timelines--expect to see more of this man.

[35] Similar events took place at a slightly later date IOTL. Brederode, incidentally, is one of the forgotten men of the Dutch Revolt--a principal instigator who was lightly airbrushed out of history in later years, largely because he was a drinker and a rabble-rouser. All together an unsuitable hero for a proper young Dutchman!

[36]IOTL, Dorothy married Thomas Cecil, eldest son of William Cecil.

[37]IOTL, an apparently similar flight of romantic fancy resulted in Henry Williams Cromwell naming his son 'Oliver', a name that would pass to the afore-named son's nephew who would go on to be... a somewhat noteworthy individual.

[38]Knox married Margaret's OTL sibling around this time. He was fifty, she was sixteen, and people had about the reaction you would expect. Incidentally, Margaret is a (very) distant relative of the Queens.

[39]A similar massacre occurred at this island OTL--by the English, under the leadership of the Earl of Essex.

[40]IOTL this rivalry would see many incidents over the years, including the famous Massacre at Glencoe. (Though admittedly, its part in that is frequently disputed.)

[41]Argyll made similar comments to Knox in his later years. Knox had a real knack for irritating people.

[42]A genuine Russian national legend of the time. While most countries had them, Ivan seems to have taken this one very seriously--it frequently made him hard to deal with diplomatically.

[43]Christina was quite keen on matching her daughter with either Erik, or Frederick II.

[44]This motet was played to Ippolito d'Este when he set out to serve as one of the Papal legates to the Colloquy of Poissy IOTL. (Things did not go well there--in fact, he and Lorraine wound up hating each other's guts.) For those who want to give a listen--here it is.

[45]A similar incident occurred in 1562 IOTL--involving Bayezid and his sons. Tahmasp could be a very bad host.

[46]Hindal Mirza, one of Akbar's many uncles that spent their lives scheming against his father Humayun, died conveniently on a pilgrimage to Mecca in 1551 IOTL.

[47]These six were members of the Amboise conspiracy IOTL, an ill-thought out plan to seize King Charles IX.

[48]This compromise is more or less the Huguenot plan for toleration from IOTL.

[49]Cardinal Lorraine was holding similar meetings IOTL, in preparation for the Colloquy of Poissy. By most accounts, he and Beza actually got along quite well.

[50]Lorraine's feelings on the doctrine eventually fell into conformity with the rest of the Church--or at least he learned to bury his misgivings--but at this point of time OTL, he was in fact quite dubious about it.

[51]Obviously close to a purported quote of his famous son's IOTL. As I've noted elsewhere, Antoine and Henry seemed to have had rather similar religious beliefs, though poor Antoine tends to get very little credit for his.

[52]Something similar happened after the Colloquy of Poissy, wherein it became increasingly clear that Lorraine was out of step with BOTH the Huguenots and the Church.

[53]IOTL, during the Thirty Years War, Budweis was one of the few Bohemian cities to stay loyal to the Hapsburgs.

[54]IOTL, Ridley was among the Marian Martyrs.

[55]IOTL and ITTL Hooper and Ridley had a rather lengthy debate on Church vestments.

[56]IOTL, Grindal went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury.

[57]Trilby was the first and only Bishop of Westminster OTL, before going onto other dioceses, and wound up being one Mary I's supporters. Here, he's hung onto the margins, staying at Westminster by necessity.

[58]Crowley acted in a similar fashion OTL, regularly publishing rather incendiary Puritan tracts.

[59]Foxe was a good friend of Hooper's IOTL--in fact, he gives the man a glowing write-up in Acts and Monuments. Here that friendship has gotten him a Bishopric.

[60]This makes TTL's Acts and Monuments closer to the book Foxe set out write originally, before Mary Tudor was so obliging as to give him a whole new set of martyrs to write about.

[61]IOTL, Cox, who really does seem to have been a rather quarrelsome fellow, likewise obligingly got into a dispute with fellow Marian exile John Knox that split the exile community in twain.

[62]Believe it or not, things like this frequently did happen over the years IOTL, climaxing in the Cross' destruction during the Civil War.

[63]Kurbsky jumped in 1564 IOTL--here, Ivan's ever so slightly worse, and thus convincing him he needs to skedaddle quicker.

[64]This is pretty much what happened to Kurbsky OTL. He seems to have arranged this out with Sigismund ahead of time.

[65]Somer seems to have undergone a similar conversion IOTL, and served a similar position.

[66]IOTL, Constantinople was out and out refusing to acknowledge Stefa--here, they're a bit distracted, and are simply ignoring him.

 

[Grouchio]

...No way. Another update.

Gonna go read!